A Dragon's Quest
by DragonFyre400
Summary: James Sirius Potter had never accepted magical limitations. When he causes a magical backlash that sends him and three friends to an unfamiliar world, a decades long journey to reunite and return begins. Each one will learn the value of friendship, duty, and above all else, that it isn't always clever to annoy Evil. Naughty Words, Dragons, Werewolves and Half-Orcs. AU. *NonSlash
1. An Unexpected Journey

This is my first Lord of the Rings fiction. I have written others stories, but never for this site. These characters are originals, to an extent, borrowed in part from another story I wrote long ago. They are OCs with familiar names. Consider this firmly in the realm of AU in both worlds. I look forward to constructive criticism and a great ride. I hope this plot brings humor, suspense, feeling, and above all else the proud satisfaction of reading a good story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings, or any character familiar to each respective story. I am not making any money off of this story. Unfortunately.

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Chapter 1 – An Unexpected Journey

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

James looked up at his friend, adjusted the protective goggles on his face, and then turned back to his work.

"Of course I'm not sure. I already told you that," he replied in his soft, deep voice. James Potter was an enigma. All wizard, with an ability to twist magic that hadn't been seen in centuries, but not all human. Captured at the age of three by wizards of ill repute, he had been tortured with foul, experimental magic that had left him as a man who had drank Polyjuice potion with the essence of a dragon.

Large, opalescent black wings sprouted elegantly from his back, shifting and twitching as he moved. A long, muscular black tail extended from the base of his spine, ending plainly. His tail was the window to his mood, moving almost cat-like to his emotions.

His hands were tipped in hardened black nails that were sharp enough to cut flesh. His face was angular and sharp, his ears longer than a man's and sharply pointed. His eyes, the color of Egyptian gold, were slitted like a snake's. And his canine teeth were long and sharp, beset with another, shorter set of fangs on either side for holding his prey steady.

He had the soul of a man and the body of an animal.

His companion, though, was at home in his presence and had been for years. Phelan Greyback was an outcast of their society, the sins of his father coming to a head one night as he forced himself on Phelan's mother. The unfortunate young woman had given birth to the werewolf's only son nine months later. When the boy was born, eyes as yellow as his father with the telling silver hair of the old werewolf, she had dropped him off at the nearest orphanage and ended her own life with a small phial of poison.

Two tragic lives were brought together at school, where both had met in their Sorted house, Slytherin. They had come across others with terrible, heart-rending stories, and had developed a tight group within their year that had taken the world by storm.

Tobias Snape, Aden Dolohov, Perseus Pettigrew, Draca Malfoy, Romulus Lupin, Phelan Greyback, Orion Black, and James Potter had formed a tight-knit community within themselves, each an outcast by some measure of society. Many of them had Death Eater fathers, and were such shunned for the misdeeds committed before they were born. James was a Halfling, cursed to exist within the world as a second-class member of society, no matter who his father was. Orion, son to Sirius, still had yet to throw off the generations of black deeds done by his relatives, and so he and his father both lived under a shadow of mistrust. Romulus and Phelan, both werewolves by birth, were with James as second-class citizens, though Romulus got a bit more leeway because his father was a respected, if not accepted, member of the Second Wizard War.

Each boy, or girl, could command the form of an Animagus, had had used the skill to great success. James himself could change into a great black dragon with ease. Phelan commanded the use of his werewolf form any time he wished, and was in complete control when the moon forced his transformations. It was a skill that had saved him a tremendous amount of grief at school. Tobias was a panther, sleek and black as his personality. Aden was a crow, Perseus a wily fox. Romulus had the same control over his werewolf form in the light of the full moon, but his Animagus form was that of a hawk. Orion, the trickster, was a grinning coyote. Draca was another conundrum in the group. For all the sins of her father, Draco, and her grandfather, Lucius, she had a heart as pure and lovely as any of them had ever seen. So while it should have come as a surprise that her Animagus form as a unicorn, it was actually a welcome addition.

Phelan watched with yellow eyes as James carefully pried the outer ring away from the little artifact, careful that it didn't spin at all. His friend had recently come into the ownership of a Time Turner, and he had every intention of breaking it apart to study with powerful magic held within the delicately forged metal and glass.

James set the slender ring of metal aside, and stood up, looking down at his work. The golden chain lay off to the side, now joined by the outer ring. He kept the pieces close together, but far enough away that they wouldn't activate themselves. He had already had a couple accidents where he had to wait an hour (or three) before he could return to the room after inadvertently tossing himself into the past.

Phelan was starting to second-guess the practicality of ripping apart a time turner.

"These things are incredibly mysterious and powerful, James. Far be it from me to sound like a cowardly little Chihuahua, but perhaps this scope of magic is beyond us..." he said softly. James removed his plastic goggles and lifted slitted eyes to his friend's face.

"There has yet to be a magical artifact beyond my comprehension. I will not be dominated by a bit of gold and sand-filled glass," James said, his tail swishing angrily behind him. Phelan rolled his eyes with a soft huff.

"Of course. And then the rest of us die in a fantastic magical backfire that melts our flesh from our bones," he snipped. James snorted, sending a puff of smoke and a small flash of sparks from his nostril. He opened his mouth to retort, but the door to their room was thrown open suddenly, making James bristle with surprise.

Orion Black stood at the doorway, a grin on his face that would put any clown to shame.

"Anyone dead yet?" he asked irreverently, the doorknob still in his hand.

"Nope, not yet," James said pointedly, glaring half-heartedly at the newcomer. Orion laughed.

"You speak of murder now, mi amigo, but you clearly had no idea that I brought food..." Orion said, producing a greasy brown bag of food in his other hand. James caught the warm smell of spicy Mexican food, and rumbled with appreciation.

"You live another day," James said.

The three friends ate in silence, sharing the fast food between them. James' food had been wrapped separately, so spicy to most people that just the smell itself could make others' eyes water.

"Sooo..." Orion finally said. "How goes the experimentation?" he asked, glancing over at James' work area.

"I've gotten off the chain and the outer ring. Did you find anything useful in your family's vault?" James replied, putting a spoonful of pickled peppers into his mouth. Steam curled lazily from his nostrils. Orion grinned, reaching into his pocket. He tossed a small pouch to James, who caught it with one hand. The velvet pouch was marked with the seal of Gringotts, and James unwound the satin cord reverently. He opened his palm and spilled the contents into his hand.

"Beautiful," he breathed simply, the Dragon half of him purring lazily at the sight of such treasure. A mithril locket sat on his palm, glittering as if it were made from stars. The locket was ovular with delicate scrollwork around the edges, with a diamond set simply into the center. It was hung on a fine chain, no more than a strand of metal, but impossibly strong.

James wanted the mithril specifically for the Time Turner project. He was going to forge the same parts from the sturdy mithril metal. He surmised that the highly magical metal would amplify the effects of the Turner, allowing the user to go back further in time. It would be useful to go back more than ten hours.

Worst come to worst he had destroyed a Time Turner and wasted a piece of the most precious metal on earth. It was a decent trade, in his opinion.

A tinkling melody from his pocket distracted him from staring at the necklace and he looked down, withdrawing his mobile phone from his pocket with one hand as he slipped the necklace back into its pouch and down into his other pocket. He flipped the phone open with his thumb and held it about a foot from his sensitive ears.

"Yea?" He greeted.

Orion shoved another bite of burrito into his mouth as James spoke on the phone. He could hear the soft tinny sounds of a female voice, and reckoned it was Draca. He smiled to himself as he took a draw of soda from his cup. James and Draca would one day realize that they loved each other. But until then everyone had to deal with James being overly protective of her and Draca pretending she didn't worship the air James breathed fire in.

James' conversation was short. He stood from the floor and brushed a few crumbs from his black robes before heading out of the work room. Phelan shot a look at Orion.

"I wish they'd just hurry up and snog," he said softly.

"_I heard that!" _James called from the hallway. The two remaining friends snickered good-naturedly.

James returned after a few minutes with Draca in tow. She was dressed in a simple blue wrap dress with flat silver shoes. She could make simple clothes look designer, with her tall, slender figure and aristocratic facial structure. Her long, silver-blonde hair was pulled away from her face with a fabric headband that matched her outfit tastefully, and her makeup was light and well applied. The Malfoy blood showed in her artfully lined grey eyes.

"Hello, boys," she greeted happily, settling on the floor next to Orion and stealing the rest of his burrito from his hand. He looked at his empty hands for a moment, before looking at her. Then he crossed his arms and pouted.

Orion was a handsome boy, the looks of his family well placed in him. He had wavy black hair and his father's piercing blue eyes, with the narrow Black facial features and slim build of his mother's family. She had been born in America to a respectable family, but she had fallen in love with England on a trip here, and moved as soon as she could. She had met his father and fallen in love, and now only saw her American family when they came to her. They were a bit snotty over her marrying a Brit.

"So how's it going?" Draca asked after polishing off the rest of Orion's burrito.

James grinned and walked back to his table, gesturing for her to come. He replaced his plastic goggles across his eyes and began to tinker with the artifact again. He carefully removed the second ring of the Turner, setting it aside as well.

"Almost done," he murmured. The other two had set aside their food and were watching him intently to see the progress. He removed a few pins and then separated the small glass housing from the highly decorated golden plate. Everything was apart.

A collective breath was released from the group.

"I must admit. That's rather nerve-wracking," Draca said with a soft, breathy laugh.

James didn't stop working. He then pulled the Gringott's pouch from his pocket and dumped the contents on the table. He removed the locket from its chain and held the locket in the palm of his hand. There was a brush of magic in the air as the locket began to float in the air.

"Move back. I'm about to apply heat," he said brusquely. The three moved back quickly, knowing how hot James could get when he applied fire to the situation. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with oxygen before exhaling slowly. A tongue of fire slipped from between his lips, licking at the locket slowly.

He repeated this action several times. The mithril began to heat up slowly, much slower than any metal he'd ever encountered, until it was white hot in front of him. Both hands were held on each side of the molten material, and he began to pour magic into the hunk of metal floating between his hands.

Phelan could see the ovular locket begin to change. The Metal separated into pieces, each droplet shaping itself into a piece of the Time Turner. The inner and outer ring, the decorative plate, and each pin and catch that he had taken apart molded itself out of the precious silvery material.

"Water," James said suddenly. Phelan rushed to the sink inside James' small lab-room. A small cauldron was filled with water and brought to where James worked. Phelan could feel the heat from the metal, and a sweat broke out after a few moments, but James looked quite at home in the sweltering heat. When Phelan had put the cauldron down and moved away James carefully levitated the glowing metal over the water, lowering it gently into the cauldron so that his friends weren't sprayed with boiling hot water.

The metal hissed and growled as it came in contact with the water, but each piece held its shape as it was instantly hardened and cooled. When each piece had been dipped and cooled, he lifted his hand again, and the newly forged pieces of mithril rose from the water. They were placed beside their gold counterparts on the work table, glittering seductively.

All eyes were on James' hands as he began winding the pieces back together. He made very sure to keep the piece flat, not wanting to accidentally send himself three weeks into the past. As they watched, his deft fingers hooked the outer ring back into place before threading the whole thing back on the mithril chain.

"That was actually a bit anticlimactic…" Orion trailed off as James glared at him. James picked up the new mithril Time Turner, holding it in his hand and examining it. It gleamed ominously in the light of his laboratory, and he carefully grasped the knobs.

"James, you're not going to try it now?!" Draca exclaimed. James held the Turner in his fingers, and then gave it a sudden flip once. Phelan gasped.

Nothing. They waited for several moments before James finally sighed in defeat.

"Damn. I guess that's – ah!" The metal suddenly lit up with brilliant light and heat. It seared his flesh but he dare not drop it. He could feel magic crackling dangerously around them. "Get out! Get out!" he called to his friends.

"James, drop it and run! We can get out of here before that thing-," He was cut off as the Time turner began to spin furiously on its own, squealing loudly the whole time. It suddenly wrenched itself from James' hands, suspended in mid-air. James could feel the pressure beginning to build around the magical artifact.

"Down!" he screamed suddenly. Draca, Phelan and Orion dove under his work table with James shortly behind him. He felt the explosion a moment fore he heard it.

For such a small item it made a gods-awful sound. It blew the glass out of the window on the far side of the lab, and James was sure his sensitive ears were deafened. It was as if there were suddenly a tornado in the room, ripping vials and instruments from their places and blowing them around. James risked a turn towards where the Turner had floated, and gasped in horror.

It was as if the air itself had _ripped. _There was a long, jagged hole in the air. It was like a vacuum, sucking his instruments into it as the air tried to stabilize the terrible pressure. With dawning terror he noticed his leather boots were slipping against the stone floor as the air drew him towards the atmospheric rip.

"Nope. Nope, nope, nope," he chanted, grabbing hold of the table. Phelan was holding tight to Draca, her lighter form making it hard for her to keep away from the gaping hole. James cried out in distress as Orion was struck hard by a small beaker. The glass broke over his head and he let go of the sturdy table in dazed surprise. The air pressure pulled him quite suddenly towards the tear.

James lashed out, wrapping his tail around the leg of the table as he grabbed his friend's arm. Orion's feet were dangling dangerously close to the black, hungry portal. James' face screwed up in agony. His tail felt as if it were going to disengage itself from his spine. It was worse than the time that Gryffindor punk had pulled it. This was unending agony.

The tip of his tail slipped suddenly, and he and Orion hurtled towards the portal. Orion's glazed eyes widened as his feet and legs disappeared into the blackness. They both came to a halt, however, when someone grabbed James' hand. His head whirled about, looking at Draca as she held determinedly onto James with one hand while Phelan held both her and a table.

"Let me go, James!" Orion said suddenly. "It's okay! Save yourselves!" he cried. James' eyes turned to him, the slitted iris wide with fear.

"Never! I'm sorry! This is all my fault and I won't let you suffer for it," he said. Orion's piercing blue eyes locked with James' gold ones. James turned then to Draca. "Let us both go. Whatever happens I can protect Orion!" he snapped. Her thin face twisted angrily.

"James Sirius Potter! I will not let my friends be eaten by some God-forsaken hole!" she returned angrily. The table Phelan was holding shifted suddenly, and they all moved forward several feet. Orion was up to his belly in the portal now.

"Please," James said simply to Draca. Tears were in her eyes as she shook her head angrily.

"Wherever we go, we go together. I will not let you go," she said. She then turned to Phelan. "Let go, Phelan. We'll go together. Even if we go right into the arms of death we'll go together. I won't abandon any of you anymore than you'd abandon me!" she cried, tears falling.

"No! Don't you dare, you furry son of a bitch!" James howled. He tried to break contact with Draca, but his grip on Orion slipped slightly. The boy was crying out to his friend to let him go, to save the rest of them.

Phelan looked at the desperate mask Orion's face was twisted into. He looked into James' angry face, and then the Draca's agonized one. Her hands were white as she held to James and to himself. He looked down at his own arm, wrapped around a table that was starting to shift towards the portal anyway.

Draca was right. He would never let go of his friends any more than they would let go of him. He screwed up what bit of courage he had.

"We'll go together," he said Draca's words aloud, and let go of the table. They all flew into the black portal, immediately ripped away from each other in the violently swirling air. The hole closed as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving only the twisted shards of molten mithril to cool on the stone floor with a few grains of mysterious sand embedded into the metal.

The trip seemed to take forever and no time at all. James felt sick as he whirled about like a fish in a blender. Suddenly the blackness lightened, if only a bit, and he felt the familiar sensation of falling downward. He hadn't had time to brace himself before he struck the ground hard. The breath was knocked out of him from the abrupt thump. He finally drew in a breath, choking on the cloying taste of dry dirt and sulfur. His head swam with agony, and he couldn't even open his eyes. A deep darkness began to descend on him, and James allowed unconsciousness to claim him.

The burning light of an all-seeing Eye landed on his prone form.

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So? Is it worth continuing? I think the story could be interesting, to be sure, but I'm eager to see if others would even want it. I don't mind constructive criticism, but I dislike flames. Let me know what you think!


	2. One Does Not Simply

Well Chapter 1 didn't receive as much attention as I'd hoped. I would love to know if you guys are interested in the story. I truly enjoy writing fanfiction, and try to do it to the best of my abilities. I don't think there were too many mistakes last chapter. I myself find it difficult to read a poorly written story. This plot came to me, as I said, in almost a dream. I wanted to use these characters that I have made up and adapted from JK Rowling's works and have them interact with the great epic characters from the work of Mr. Tolkien. I sincerely hope that you all enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. :D

A bit of advice would be to completely ignore the Epilogue to the Harry Potter Universe and to keep an open mind here. I am weaving a great amount of Author's Prerogative into this tale and while I will definitely try to keep it canon for both worlds, there are a few things that are going to be different. Case in point…

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Chapter 2 – One Does Not Simply…

Water was harshly thrown into his face. He spluttered into consciousness, aware of the vague aching of his body. He was wrenched to his knees by gripping, clawing hands, and it was only the nebulous thought that it might be Muggles that prevented him from setting them on fire. He blinked the tepid water out of his face with effort, discovering that his hands were chained above his head.

"Well, well. It wakes," The voice was harsh and grating. It hurt James' ears. He shook his head like a wet dog to clear himself and then looked up at his captor.

He stood tall, taller than any creature James had come across. Broad in the shoulder and narrow in the waist, he cut an imposing figure. The mystery was only added to by the dark, perilous looking armor he wore. It was as dark as the night sky and gleamed dully in the torchlight of the room. The heavy boots were pointed sharply at the tip, curving wickedly like a dagger, and James reckoned that a kick from that foot at the right angle could gut someone like a fish. He'd prefer not to find out.

Long-fingered hands were encased in black gauntlets decorated with so many individual points and tips that just getting tickled by this guy could cause someone to bleed out. But by far the most imposing piece of the ensemble was the helmet. It was sharply spiked by metal horns, decorated with individual platelets that covered the whole of his head and face. It was a gothic monstrosity designed to invoke terror at its sight. James was brave, but he was also a sensible Slytherin student, and he would not dare to call himself such if he didn't have a bit of healthy fear at the sight of this armored commander.

It had been a great disappointment to his father for him to be sorted into Slytherin, to be sure, but it was only the fear of hurting his son's feelings that had stayed Harry Potter's tongue. But James knew that his father's initial disappointment had turned to pride as his son fared well with his grades, and gathered (unusual) friends. James had been a favorite student at Hogwarts amongst the staff and students alike. Sure, there was always the snooty arse that had made fun of him for his 'Half-breed' status, but on the whole he had been well-liked. His humorous sarcasm was legendary, and had both gotten him into and out of several scrapes.

"I must say, sir, that your armor makes you look quite malevolent." James said conversationally. He heard a sharp whistling sound, and yelped when a whip cracked across his back, right between his wings. "Merlin's purple hot pants! What was that for?" he snapped, showing his teeth in anger. "Fine! You look like an iron cow!"

The whip struck him several times in succession before the armored figure held up a hand. James was breathing raggedly through clenched teeth, his slitted eyes glaring at the figure as the metal-shod feet moved forward. The spiked hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. The glove was as sharp and prickly as James imagined and it dug into his skin in several places.

"You should watch that vociferous tongue, young serpent, ere I have it forcibly removed from behind those wicked teeth," The voice grated. James merely growled deeply. "Why are you here?"

James seemed to consider the question.

"Oh, you know….I was in the area. Just thought I'd drop in for some tea…" he trailed off as the hand squeezed his chin impatiently.

"One does not simply 'drop' into Mordor."

"Good Lord! Am I in Mordor? Christ, I thought this was Ohio! Well I'll just be on my way-," he was silenced with another crack of the whip and a harsh shake from his captor.

"Take him to the dungeons. Show him Mordor's finest hospitality," The figure ordered. His chain was released from the ring above his head and he was jerked forward by the same creature that held the whip. He finally got a good look at it, and he had to admit to himself that he rather wished he hadn't. The creature was shorter than him, but broad and muscular, with dark, greenish looking skin that appeared leathery and thick. Large, fanged teeth poked from between misshapen lips and the broad, flat nose flared as the creature breathed.

He almost didn't have the time to get his feet under him as the creature dragged him, but he suspected that his momentum would continue whether he was on his feet or not. His back stung something fierce from the angry whiplashes, and James regretted his hasty tongue. What he wouldn't give to be at home with a grilled cheese sandwich.

He had no idea where he was. The being in the impressive armor had called this place 'Mordor,' but he was unfamiliar of such a place. It was possible that he had been flung backwards a very long time by the mithril Time Turner, and that the land he was in was simply named something else in his time. Or, there was always the possibility that he was in another place entirely.

James had learned a long time ago that magic was only limited to what you believed it was. Being someone who could twist the element of magic to fit nearly anything he wanted it to made James realize that there were many, many possibilities to this destination. He did, however, wonder on the location of his friends. He did not sense or smell them nearby and at this point he was okay with that so long as they did not have to deal with the prickly lord of this….place.

The hallways were made of dark stone. The walls looked flame-damaged, streaked in places as if fire had torn through them. In fact, the whole place smelled vaguely of smoke. There was also a heavy scent of sulfur in the air, making his tongue dry and his eyes sting.

James normally had a fair sense of direction, but this creature had dragged him down so many hallways that he could not remember where they had come from. He had a vague sense that he should fight and attempt to escape, but after the debacle with his big mouth he decided to wait out his captors, to see what they wanted with him and if he could perhaps escape later.

He was tossed unceremoniously into the cell and the door was shut with a clang.

"It is my sincerest hope that you find your lodgings adequate," the foul being sneered at James. He drew himself up with all the air of an English noble.

"I find the staff lacking and the atmosphere entirely dreadful." He said, affecting a posh accent. The creature snarled at him like an angry animal, and deep within James a predator awoke. He grabbed the bars and roared at the creature, blowing the matted hair back away from its face. The beast's shoulders dropped suddenly in an instinctual surrender before its stubborn nature came forth and it scuttled away with a half-hearted growl. James looked pleased with himself.

"Not one predator exists above a dragon."

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She knew it was going to be bad when she hit the first branch. It broke beneath her weight and dropped her down into another branch. This one was much thicker and studier, however, and did not break. Her body bowed from the force of striking the limb and she was vaguely aware of the sharp snap of her arm before she was spilled down to another branch. She bounced across at least three more branches before she finally struck the ground in an ungainly heap. There were a few moments where her lungs seemed to have stopped working before she drew an agonized breath.

She would have screamed in anguish if the breath had been any easier to draw. As it were it was as if a horse was sitting on her chest, and the effort to even breath was much harder than she was willing to risk on a scream.

She began to slowly assess her own personal damage. She could move her head and neck, so she wasn't worried about a broken neck, much to her relief. Her wand arm was shattered, with a suspicious looking lump forming hideously against the skin. She was sure she had cracked a few ribs, if not outright broken one. Her hips were bruised, but she was sure her pelvis was unbroken. Her leg was a problem. The right leg was bent at an indecent angle and she wasn't sure if it was a good thing that she couldn't really feel it.

She only tried moving once. She only managed to get into a sitting position. It was a terrible idea and she didn't try it again. She then resigned herself to the fact that she was probably going to die where she landed. It was a damn bit of bad luck, to be sure. To have survived being thrown through some god-awful portal and then just die from falling into a tree was disgraceful.

She did try to find her wand. But, as fate would have it, it had snapped inside the leather sheath. Of all days not to wear the charmed one….her father would be most displeased that she had worn an inferior sheath because it matched her dress.

And then it began to rain.

She sat at the base of the tree, trembling in the rain and suffering as silently as she could. Her teeth chattered incessantly even as a few moans escaped her when the pain was too much. A song bubbled beneath her moans, and she sang softly to distract herself. The song itself had been seen in a movie years ago when she was a little girl. She had been over at a friend's house, one who was familiar with Muggle technology, and they had played the movie of a tiny sprite of a girl and her adventures in the world.

_I know there's someone__  
__Somewhere__  
__Someone__  
__Who's sure to find me ... Soon_

_After the rain goes__  
__There are Rainbows__  
__I'll find my rainbow soon_

_Soon it won't be just pretend__  
__Soon a happy ending__  
__Love Can you hear me__  
__If you're near me_

_Sing your song__  
__Sure and Strong and...Soon_

She was tired. The pain was overwhelming and she just wanted to be done with the torment of existence. She closed her eyes and leaned her throbbing head against the tree trunk.

"You heard something over here?"

She heard the soft voice through the trees and over the rain. Curious. The speaker didn't seem to be talking all that loud, and yet she heard him as though he were standing next to her.

"Yes. I heard singing. It sounded distressed," another voice replied. There was something about those voices that wasn't quite…right. It was as if they had an accent that she couldn't quite place.

"Hello?" she called. There was only a small rustle of a bush before a figure emerged, covered in a cloak and hood to shield against the rain. She winced when she saw that the figure carried a longbow, held low in his hands but already nocked with an arrow.

"Who are you? What business do you have in the forest of Mirkwood?" he asked. She swallowed nervously, drawing up against the tree trunk with a whimper.

"Beinarad, stop. Can't you see she's hurt?" Another figure emerged from the woods, pulling down his hood as he stepped.

"My Prince, please! What if she is hostile?" Beinarad argued. The Prince laughed aloud.

"Look at her arm, Beinarad. She cannot wield a blade or bow with such an obvious break. Take a look at her leg while you're at it. Even if she wanted to it would be impossible for her to pursue us," he replied, gesturing to Draca's arm and leg respectively. "What is your name, fair maiden? Why are you so far into the woods without traveling attire?" He asked gently.

"I am D-Draca," she said softly, wiping the rain out of her eyes with her good hand.

"An….irregular name. Unique, even. You must be freezing," he said, his fair features marred with a frown. Draca swallowed hard, trying to bury the tears that were threatening to bubble up. She'd been in pain before, having spent several years on the House Quidditch team. It wasn't the pain that bothered her. These strangers seemed kind enough – well, the one did anyway, but who could tell if they were actually psycho-murderers on their way home from a day of people-killing.

Their dress was odd. Old-fashioned traveling clothes of leather and thick cloth, suited for the wear and tear of the road but looking like something right out the 1600s. The 'Prince' could pass as a relative to her, pale and blond as he was. His eyes were bright and silvery gray, and he wore a simple silver circlet around his brow. His companion's clothes were similarly styled, but lacked a certain…elegance that 'Prince' had. He had not pulled back his hood, but Draca guessed that he did not wear a circlet.

The tears came, unbidden. Though they were not obvious in the rain, her sudden sniffles and the shaking of her shoulders was obvious. The Prince made a soft noise of sympathy before taking several steps forward and kneeling at her side. He unfastened the thick cloak around his shoulders and pulled it off.

"Beinarad, put your bow away and help me wrap her up. We will take her with us. Mayhap my father can send word to see if she belongs to the men of Dale," he said. Beinarad sighed in annoyance, clearly thinking that it was a bad idea to bring the girl with them. He slipped his bow behind him and knelt next to the sopping girl.

"Lean forward a bit so I can get my arms under you," Beinarad said to her. Still sniffling miserably, Draca managed to lean forward. Her wet hair was plastered against her face and head, and Beinarad actually paused for a moment. "Prince Legolas…" he murmured, looking at where her ears peaked through the wet hair. Legolas gently reached up and pushed her hair aside, revealing the delicately pointed tips of her ears.

"_Peredhel_," he breathed. **(Half-elf)**

Draca looked up at the word, a confused look on her face.

"I am no elf," she stated clearly. Legolas' blond eyebrows went up.

"You speak Sindarín," he returned. She shook her head, and immediately regretted it as the world turned upside down.

"My Prince, the girl has probably struck her head. She is delirious," Beinarad said. Legolas nodded to himself, convinced of the merit of this. Draca opened her mouth to protest but her words were cut short as Beinarad slid his arms underneath her and lifted. She cried out as he leg dangled from over his arm, bringing her left hand to her mouth and biting down to distract from the pain. Beinarad shifted her into Legolas' arms where the Prince had arranged the cloak to receive her. She was grateful for the warmth the fabric offered, but the pain made her dizzy as he began to carry her.

"We have not an extra horse," Beinarad pointed out.

"Then it will be awfully gallant of my dear mount to bear us both. She is not heavy," Legolas replied evenly. Beinarad inclined his head. "I apologize, _bain gwend_, but it will not be a comfortable journey," he warned as they picked back through the bushes to where they had tied their horses. Draca turned her head against Legolas with a whimper. **(Fair maiden)**

"I am n-no stranger to p-pain. I will live," she muttered, almost too softly for even Legolas' sensitive ears to pick up. Her eyes drooped suddenly, and without a warning she dropped into unconsciousness. Beinarad held the still-shivering parcel as Legolas mounted his horse, and then handed her over to the prince before retrieving his own mount. The two set off in the direction of the palace, side by side on the path so that Beinarad could watch before and behind.

Beinarad frowned, before turning to Legolas.

"This is definitely the last time I let you talk me into accompanying you into the forest."

* * *

Well, what did you think, my preciouses? Chapter two up and done. I would love to hear what you think. I know it is a little early to see plot in this story, but I think the humor is there. Also the few Sindarin phrases I use may or may not be the best way to say it. I am simply using a dictionary.

The song Draca sings is from Thumbelina™ called 'Soon.' If you are unfamiliar with it then I suggest a quick trip to the Youtube.

James will be my favorite by far. Don't let his prickly exterior fool you. Beneath his scales lies a heart of gold and a wit of quick-silver. :3 We will see more of the history and story of the four wanderers as time progresses. I hope this is a satisfying and original tale for you all.


	3. I Am a Great Many Things

I am getting slowly disheartened by the lack of response. I am loving this story so far, but of course I am quite biased, and would love to hear outside input. Like I said, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, reviews are welcome, cherished even… I hope you like this new chapter.

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Chapter 3 – I Am a Great Many Things

Larry Pinkerton had lived beside James Potter for the past five years. He was a respectable author, having written books on everything from rudimentary Potions to advance wand lore. The young man next to him was a Jack of all Trades. He could brew, transfigure, charm and hex with the best of them. He had a quicksilver wit. It was unfortunate that he was not human. Now, Larry had never held the same convictions that others did about those who were not of human heritage. He enjoyed James' company, and had since the first day the young man had moved in.

James and Larry shared a larger country home that had been split into two separate houses. James lived upstairs and Larry lived downstairs. There was a staircase that James could access from inside the house that, if either of them required, would make it possible for the reptilian wizard to never come in contact with Larry.

Larry was well aware that James was a fervent experimenter. He had blown so many things up over the past few years that it was almost endearing to hear a small boom from upstairs. It nearly always meant that James had come up with something awesome. As it were, though, he was also aware that some of James' experiments could be dangerous. James and Larry had an agreement in place. After an experiment, if James did not visit Larry within five hours, it was likely an emergency and Larry should call James' father, Harry.

Harry paid for James' place. James could not own property, much to Harry's chagrin. Harry and his wife, Ginny, had been embroiled for years in battles that would revoke the restrictions put on 'half-breeds' including werewolves, vampires that lived within their society, those of mixed heritage, and James. They were met with staunch refusal from many sides of society, especially those who remembered Fenrir Greyback and his army of werewolves that had single-handedly doubled the population of werewolves in England shortly after the fall of Voldemort.

It had been four-and-a-half hours since Larry had heard the deafening boom upstairs. It was quite possibly the loudest one to date, and had rattled the entire house. He had his mobile phone in his hand, his leg jiggling nervously. It had never taken James this long to come down, even including the time that he had been blown clean out of the window and had fallen into the rosebushes below and had been out cold for two hours.

He dialed the number in the phone, listening to the soft purring rings on the other end.

"Auror Potter,"

"Hello, Mr. Potter. This is Larry Pinkerton, James' housemate," Larry said, on edge to be speaking to such an important man.

"Ah, Larry! James speaks very highly of you when he's over. I hope he isn't still accidentally setting fire to the curtains!" Harry said with a laugh. Larry returned the laugh nervously.

"No, Auror Potter. Nothing of the sort. Ah...how to begin. You must know that James has fantastic ability to wield and twist magic..." Larry started.

"Aye, that I do. My boy is on the forefront of magical developments, many of which society greatly uses even if they do want to keep him out of society," Harry replied quietly.

"Well, sir...James and I have an agreement of sorts. I am his backup. I've never had to exercise the power before. He has told me if there is ever a time that I hear an explosion, and do not hear from him for five hours, then I am to contact you," Larry said, talking quickly. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"You haven't heard from him in five hours?" Harry asked, an edge to his voice.

"Well, it's actually only been four and some change..." Larry returned. Harry cursed over the phone, his voice faraway as though he'd taken the phone away from his mouth.

"I'll be there momentarily. Stand by," Harry said with authority, and there was silence. The phone had been hung up.

It was only about ten minutes before there was a knock on Larry's front door. When Larry answered the knock he found Harry Potter standing at his door, dressed in full Auror regalia and toting two assistant Aurors.

Harry Potter had only gotten more intimidating over the years. The unruly black hair made him look dangerous, like he had just stepped out of a battle at all times. His signature circular glasses had been replaced with magical contact lenses that made it unnecessary to wear spectacles and gave him a few advantages in a fight. He was lean and muscular, and the leather armor of the Auror department was very flattering on him, as was the crimson color of his Captain's robes.

"Mr.- Ah, Auror Potter," Larry said softly.

"I haven't a key for James' door, and if I know my son I won't be able to break the enchantments anyway," Harry said.

"Of course! We have a key to each other's door," Larry said, reaching up and grabbing a small gold key from a nail by the door. He handed it to Harry, who nodded his thanks and turned around, walking to the stairs that led up to James' flat.

"Auror Potter...may I come with you? James is a good lad. I would like to see if he's okay..." Larry said. Harry turned back, his brilliant green eyes searching for something in Larry's soft brown eyes.

"Stay behind us. If we tell you to get back, get back. My son is brilliant, but some of the things he messes around with are dangerous,"

Larry nodded enthusiastically, and followed behind the other two Aurors as the three went upstairs. Harry opened the door slowly, coughing at the acrid smell of smoke and burnt metal. He drew his wand and began to clear the air, looking around as he did. A small purse was hung on a peg by the door, along with two outer robes. The purse easily belonged to Draca Malfoy, James' friend from Hogwarts.

The other two robes were not James', because they didn't have holes cut into the back to make place for wings. Harry picked up one of them. It was plain but of very good quality. Shit. Sirius was going to have a cow that Orion was over here again messing around with James' experiments.

Sirius had returned from behind the Veil two weeks to the day after Voldemort had been defeated. He wouldn't talk about his time in the land of the dead, nor did he seem adversely affected by it. When asked how he had gotten out, he simply said it hadn't been his time, and had been allowed to step back into life. He had been declared innocent and been given gold by the Ministry for his lost years in Azkaban. Sirius had turned and immediately split the money amongst several charities and his friend Remus.

Remus had survived the Final Battle where Nymphadora had not. He had awoken holding her cold hand along with the rest of the dead. It had changed him. He tried to be strong for his son, Teddy, but he had taken to the drink not long after her death. Teddy stayed with Andromeda most of the time, and had adopted her as his mother in the absence of his grief-broken father. Remus had gotten involved in a one-night stand that had left him with another son, particularly because the woman had dropped the newborn werecub off on Remus' doorstep and told him if he didn't want the lad to let him freeze.

Remus' paternal instincts had woken again, and both his boys lived with him now. Romulus had been in James' year at Hogwarts and was a brilliant, shy lad like his father.

"Look, Potter," said one of the other Aurors, holding up a silver hair he had plucked from the collar of the other robe.

"Phelan Greyback," Harry stated. The Auror growled softly, having had a run-in with the boy's father that had taken his partner years before.

"There are four people that are involved in this. Come," Harry said, moving towards the back of the flat where James kept his laboratory. Magic was heavy in the air, cloying and tingly. Harry could not help the way his hair stood on end and literally crackled with the static magic in the air, and it put him ill at ease. He approached the door to the lab, gently testing the knob with his fingers before grasping it and pushing it open.

The lab looked like a warzone. There were parchments, broken glass and various broken and twisted instruments strewn all over the table and countertops. The magic in the air was so thick that Harry's eyes started to water a bit. A sparkle of silver caught his eye and he advanced carefully, kicking a few bits of litter aside. He slipped his wand back inside his sleeve and knelt down, examining where a few bits of silver were melted against the floor.

But there was something about this silver. It glittered brilliantly even though the floor around it was filthy and burnt. It was seductive and beautiful, even just the few shards that littered the floor. His eyes were glued to the shimmering metal as his hand started to reach out to touch it. Just to touch it…

"Captain Potter!" One of the other Auror's exclaimed, seeing a dazed look on the man's face. Harry came back to himself with the exclamation, and scowled at the almost rookie mistake.

"Mithril," he stated calmly. "Exceedingly rare and beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful and tricky to deal with," he said, glancing across the floor. There were several streaks of glittering sand nearby as well, but Harry made no attempt to touch that.

A small glare caught his eye and he reached forward and picked up the small item. It was the size of a small coin, rounded and solid black, but it changed to a dark opalescent color as the light hit it. Harry inhaled sharply and a sick feeling settled into his stomach. How often had he found these little things around the house? How often had they been strewn in the shower, stuck to towels, tangled in the carpet?

Dragon scales. James' scales. They fell out from time to time, that much was true. But Harry felt a heavy, stinging feeling in his eyes as he saw the jagged edge of this one. This one had not fallen out. It had been _ripped _from James' body. By the size and shape of it he could guess it had come from the tail. The scales of his wings were much smaller.

James often used his tail as someone would another arm. He had often climbed the trees in the backyard using his tail for balance and reach. It had saved him from a nasty fall once, grasping the branch before he could fall head-first to the ground.

"Oh James. My boy….my son. What have you gotten yourself into?"

* * *

James meditated in the center of the cell, his tail swishing languidly across the stone floor. There were bones strewn in the corner of the dreary cell, and James supposed that they were the previous occupants. Wherever he had landed was not a friendly place – that much was obvious. They had not said anything about his appearance, which was both interesting and strange. People who he had never met tended to be _extremely _suspicious of him. They thought he would steal their virgins and take their treasure.

Virgins were overrated. To weepy and clingy for his tastes. And gold…well he had plenty of that in his family now didn't he? His father was Harry The-Guy-Who-Wouldn't-Die Potter. He had not wanted for anything in his childhood.

He only vaguely remembered the incident that had left him looking like a circus freak. He remembered pain. He remembered pain so great that he had begged for it to end. As a three year old he had wanted to die. When he had been rescued, his father had come bursting into the building like a dark, avenging angel. There had been only one wizard in the room with James at the time, and he had fallen to a cutting curse to the throat.

He remembered his father setting eyes on him and then falling to his knees, weeping loudly. He had been afraid to touch James. James remembered trying to say something to his father, only to lean forward and barf on the floor. His vomit had been so acidic it had eaten a pit in the floor.

He had been sick for weeks as his body healed and grew accustomed to this new form. All the while Harry had Healers and curse-breakers trying to return his son to his previous form. But when they finally told Harry that James could not be cured, Harry had taken a new approach. He had embraced his son's new form. When James woke in the night screeching like a wild animal, Harry had merely held him and stroked his head as Ginny sang him back to sleep. When he would sneeze and set the curtains on fire, Harry would merely put them out and leave, returning later with new ones. He would always wink and tell James he hadn't liked those ones, either.

When James had been found in the backyard gnawing at a squirrel he had caught, Harry had taken to giving his son rare bits of meat during the day to stay his lust for it.

The Potters had decided not to have any more children. Not yet, anyway. James had needed them so much after the incident that it would have been unkind to remove attention from him.

"Ugly, innit?"

James' golden eyes opened as the voice spoke, and he saw several of the beasts of this land standing in front of his cell, looking at him with twisted amusement.

"Aye. Looks like the back end of a warg!" Another exclaimed. James grinned, showing his fangs in the light.

"I'd rather look like the back end of a warg than the front end of your mother," he stated. The beasts howled with amusement as the one who had spoken growled at him, revealing jagged teeth. James' grin became more of a snarl, his teeth parting so that his own fangs glinted dully.

"Watch yer mouth, Man-beast! The Master is interested in you. It may be the only reason yer alive," it replied.

"Shut yer mouth, Tulg! You don't go about talking of the Master's business! By the fires of the Mountain!" another exclaimed.

"You shut yer own mouth, you filthy excuse fer an orc!" Tulg snapped. The two went head-to-head, snarling like two animals vying for dominance. James stood to his feet, approaching the cell door.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen….calm yourselves. No need to argue over me. I couldn't give two fucks what your Master thinks," he said cheekily.

"Good to know," Another…orc, was it?...came forward. "We'll be sure to tell him of your opinion,"

* * *

It was a week before he heard from them. He was given no food and little water. He had, of course, transfigured some water from the bones around him to supplement. It was not good water. It tasted dry and dead, but it slaked his thirst. The hunger was painful and all-consuming. It was awakening deep animal instincts in him. He didn't like it. No matter what he looked like on the inside, he still had the grace and sentience of a human, and he had never liked his baser instincts.

The last time he had felt so in touch with the dragon was the first time he had seen spilled blood. Cuts and scrapes were one thing, and had always made him feel slightly giddy, but the first week in Potions when one of his classmates had cut open her hand with the knife had nearly been his undoing. The scent of the blood, warm and full of life…

It had taken three other students to hold him, and twenty minutes to calm him after she had left. His fellow students had been much more understanding than the professor. The man had hated him from that moment on.

He heard footsteps and raised his head when an orc appeared at his cell door with a key. The scent of raw meat hit him before the orc pulled out a large flank of some animal, still glistening with blood. The orc watched as James' slitted pupils narrowed, becoming little more than black lines against the gold iris.

"Does it want the meat?" the orc asked cruelly, sniffing at the bloody meat. James stood slowly and stepped towards the gate. His lips glistened with saliva at the smell of the blood. The orc moved back as James reached the door. His fingers curled around the bars and he pressed his face against the metal. Then he grinned.

"Alohomora," he said, and the orc heard the click of a lock. The cell door was thrown open and James pounced, wrenching the meat from the orc and giving it a blinding punch to the face. It careened backwards and struck the ground hard as James ripped into the meat. He got several glorious mouthfuls before he took off running, still holding the flank in his hand. _Point me, exit! _He thought out desperately. A small spark of magic came to life in front of him and he followed it.

He ran right through a hall of orc warriors, not pausing for a moment as they yelled in surprise and gave chase. He discarded the mostly clean bone as he ran, finally emerging into what he assumed was the main room of this place. The orcs giving chase emerged from the hallway, took one look to the right, and immediately retreated back into the hallway.

"I must admit intrigue,"

James skidded to a halt and turned to see a figure sitting on a grotesque throne of twisted stone and bone. It was the same armored figure that had 'welcomed' him on his awakening. He was still a-splendor in his black armor, but the helmet had been removed.

His hair was black as pitch, streaked with white in places. He had a broad face, smooth and cold as stone and twisted into a sneer. His eyebrows were thick and arched, lending a villainous air to his expression. But his eyes….oh, his eyes.

There were like fire, burning with red and orange and yellow in a swirling haze of black magic that left James feeling winded. Or perhaps it was the dash through the fortress.

"You escaped my dungeon. You led my orcs on a merry chase through my halls. You _reek _of magic…" he trailed off, his nostrils flaring. "Who are you?"

"I am the hope of the universe. I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace. I am protector of the innocent. I am the light in the darkness. I am truth. I am ally to good, nightmare to you!" James quoted flawlessly. The figure threw his head back and laughed, revealing the points of individually sharpened teeth. The laugh was cold, like the deep frost of winter, and made James shiver.

"An enigma! What amusement you provide, young serpent!" he chuckled, his gaze lowering again as he fixed James with fiery eyes.

"_I _am the Lord of Mordor, Master of Barad-dûr. _I _am Red Eye, the one of Dark Power. _I _am the Dark Lord, the Ring-maker, the Sorcerer. Iam Sauron the Deceiver, the Nightmare of the West. Hear _my _name and quake with fear!" he barked. Shadows swirled at the side of the throne and solidified into several tall, shadowy figures. Wraiths with black cloaks that smacked of the fear and desolation of the Dementors.

"Let me go," James snarled. Sauron stood from his throne, stepping towards James with an expression of interest on his face.

"You are mine. You trespassed in my land and you are now my prisoner. I will do with you what I see fit. Perhaps I will let the orcs pick their teeth with your bones?" he growled. With a signal of his hand the wraiths moved forward. The glided as they walked, a dangerous elegance about them. James counted eight of them, all coming towards him with arms outstretched.

James weighed his options quickly. The entrance of this place was to the far end of the hall. There was no door, and he could see the dry land of Mordor stretched out the doorway.

"By all means. If you can reach the edge of Mordor you are free to go," Sauron grinned, his pointed teeth gleaming. His expression made it clear that he believed it would not happen.

James transformed. His body melded seamlessly into the black dragon. Though he counted himself large, he was not a full-sized dragon by far. He was the size of a large horse, his back legs thick with muscle and his front legs thin and easily moved. His hands were highly limber, capable of grasping and clutching at prey and tipped with long black talons. His neck was long and slender, tipped with a triangular head that held a mouthful of razor sharp fangs. He had two large ears protruding from his head, pointed and upright like a horse's. His underbelly was thick and armored, colored a softer grey in comparison to the harsh black of his scales.

He inhaled deeply and threw a long tongue of flame at the eight wraiths. They shrieked and moved back, and James used the distraction to bolt for the door.

Sauron watched, quiet with surprise, before his lips turned up into a frightening grin. "Murazor," he said softly, and another shadow emerged beside his throne. The Witch-King stood at his Master's command. "Let him escape. I can think of greater ways to cause chaos in these lands," he said. He held his spiked gauntlet to his face and breathed deeply into his palm, forming a dark collar in his hand. "Don't let our little pet run about un-collared. They might think him a stray and put him down!" Sauron laughed, holding out the collar to the Nazgul captain.

James ran as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He surprised the orc soldiers lingering in the land, most of which fell out of the way of the black dragon. Those that sought to impede his path were leapt over with serpentine grace. He had no idea where he was going and no way to know if he was going towards the edge of this god-forsaken land.

He risked a glance behind him, noticing that Sauron had not pursued him. He gave a dragon grin and turned back, running face first into the tall figure of Murazor, the Witch-King of Angmar. He fell back with a thud as the Witch-King shot forward, pinning his head with an armored hand and placing a booted foot on his side and pressing him into the dusty soil. James twisted and fought angrily, hissing and spitting. The other hand reached forward and snapped the collar into place.

The metal was thin but impossibly strong, and as soon as the Witch-King's grasp on James was loosened, James shot to his feet and began clawing at the collar, his screams of rage echoing in the thick, hollow air of Mordor.

"The Master wishes thee safe passage through these lands. He doth bid thee not to get into too much trouble," Murazor laughed harshly, before standing tall and watching the dragon. James had a few things to say to the wraith, and tried to turn back to tell him.

He could not. The horror set into his face and caused Murazor to laugh again as he tried repeatedly to return to his two-legged form. He could not. A sharp blow from the Witch-King's armored hand sent James clamoring to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

When he woke again, he had been disposed of like so much garbage, half-buried in dirt in a stark plain of land. He could smell the harsh, thick smell of marshes in front of him, and behind him was a mountain range, leaving him to believe that the Dark Lord wanted him dead, and had decided to do it more creatively.

Having discovered that the collar prevented him from changing back from his dragon form, James held out a clawed hand, trying to conjure magic. He was pleased when a flame floated merrily above his paw.

_That spiky-headed fuck bucket may have trapped me in my dragon form, _James thought angrily, _but he hasn't broken me. I will find a way back into my own body, and I will find my friends, and then I will come back to this land and shit in that iron whore's boot._

* * *

Oh Jimmy! U cwazy!

Now….ten brownie points to whoever can point out the blatantly obvious reference in the story and give me the origin of it. Who knows…I may even use a lucky username in a new chapter. Every good story has filler characters and random villagers. :D

….please review?


	4. What Business Do You Have?

Ai, a chapter has come! Lolz. I hope everyone is enjoying so far. I haven't gotten but a couple reviews for the story, and would love to hear what you all think so far. I'm enjoying this story so far. I haven't written anything quite so enjoyable for a while, and I hope that you all consider this as much a treat as I do. Feel free to leave a line (or four) telling me how you feel about the plotline so far…

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Chapter 4 - What Business Do You Have?

She was encased in a cocoon of warmth. Consciousness was not quick to return to her and she drifted in and out of it as though in a dream. A few times she saw a flash of a pale face and blond hair, and would murmur to herself about her father keeping watch over her. It was a strange existence, to be certain, this floating world. There was very little pain. It had been skirting about the edges of her mind nearer to the beginning, but now she only felt twinges.

It was a week after she had been rescued by Prince Legolas before she broke through the fog of unconsciousness and sat up in bed with a gasp. There was a yelp of surprise next to her and a crash, and she looked over to see the same prince quickly rising to his feet and looking a bit bleary.

"How unusually you awaken," he teased. Her face flushed a bit when he smiled at her.

"Sorry…" she trailed off softly. He laughed gently and reseated himself.

"Don't apologize. I merely meant to tease you. How do you feel? The Healer said you had a nasty break in your arm. Both your arm and leg will heal fully in time," he said, studying her with his bright grey eyes.

"Only a flutter of pain. I can handle it," Draca replied, glancing at her arm which was splinted and bandaged tightly with white linen.

Legolas was silent for a few moments before he drew in a deep breath.

"Why were you in the forest?" he asked. His father had bid him to find out about the strange maiden. She had been ill-dressed for travel, nothing but a cotton dress for the autumn of Mirkwood. Her shoes were not of traveling quality, looking of the decorative slippers that Men of nobility wore. The strange stick she had carried with her absolutely _reeked _of magic. It was heavy and thick, but not unpleasant or Dark, which was one of the only reasons that the elf-king Thranduil had allowed the girl to stay within the palace infirmary.

"I…am not sure," Draca said softly. Legolas turned to her, a frown on his fair face.

"My father is King of Mirkwood. He asked of me to discover the reason for your travel inside this realm. The times are dark and he wishes no ill to his kingdom," Legolas said, fixing her with a stare. She looked at him, their grey eyes meeting.

"I wish ill to no one. I tell the truth when I say I do not know how I got into the forest. I was transported by a force I do not understand,"

She felt at ease talking to this young man, though she couldn't quite pin down why. He reached up idly and pushed his blond hair behind an ear- and she gasped softly.

"What is it?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

"Your…your ears!" she exclaimed. He put his hand to his ear, feeling to see if anything was amiss.

"They are in place. What is the problem?"

"They….are….pointy!" she stumbled over the words. He stared at her silently for several moments before giving a soft snort.

"So are yours!" he returned. Her good hand started to rise.

"They are n-," but her fingers touched her ear and felt the delicate point beneath them. Her injured arm came up, the fingers brushing her other ear. "What's going on…I don't understand….I…this…" she quickly fell into a confused despair, tears coming to her eyes. She began to cry.

Legolas was vastly puzzled. What was going on? He didn't understand what was so upsetting about having pointy ears. He could call himself biased, but he found them much more exotic than the rounded stubs of Men.

"Why do you weep, maiden?" he asked, reaching out finally to touch her arm.

"I am s-so confused! I don't know wh-why I was in the f-forest! I am a stranger here. I don't know what's going on! I don't know where m-my friends are! Are they okay? Did they d-d-," but she did not finish.

"Ai…friends? You were alone, child. Mayhap you were separated in travel?" he suggested. She sniffled miserably. "Lay back against your pillows and I shall fetch you something to eat, yes? I am sure you are ravenous," he said amicably. She did lean back against the pillows, her uninjured hand going back up to her ear to poke at it.

"Sure," she said softly. He stood from the chair and turned towards the door.

"Fear not, _tithen gwathel_. You have naught to fear from Mirkwood. We will find your companions if it is here they have come, and we will make sure you are well taken care of," he reassured her. She had an air about her. Like a little lost puppy, sad and hopeful. He had always had a soft spot for creatures in despair. He would not quite forget the walloping his father had given him when it was discovered he had sneaked one of the spiders of Mirkwood into his room because it had broken a leg. His father, famous for a quick temper, had taken him aside later and explained that not all creatures were defenseless, even when injured. It had curbed _some _of his tendencies, but even today he would sometimes come back from the forest nursing a sparrow with a broken wing, or the occasional abandoned deer. **(****Little sister)**

She looked up at him. His eyes were sparkling like stars, and she couldn't help but smile. His expression brightened at the look and he fairly skittered from the room to retrieve her plate of food.

Draca sighed when he had gone. Her arm and leg were not very painful, but she was aware that they had been injured. Her wand was snapped and she had no access to a majority of her magic. But she was not completely defenseless. She held out her left hand in front of her, concentrating deeply on her magical core. Her grandfather had taught her the trick long ago so that his only granddaughter would never be completely helpless.

A glimmer of magic appeared in her hand. She sighed with hope as the magic took shape, forming into a butterfly that lifted from her hand, fluttering around her head.

"My, what guests the forest sends us,"

The butterfly disappeared in a shower of sparkles as Draca's concentration was broken. She looked up at the doorway, feeling decidedly nervous at the newcomer. He was clearly Legolas' father. The resemblance was plain.

King Thranduil was a bit broader than his son, dressed in fine robes of deep green and silver. He had a crown of woven twigs in his hair, twisted with a few fall flowers and the colorful yellow and green leaves. It did not make him look any less intimidating. In fact, it only served to make him look wild and dangerous. Whereas Legolas' face was eager and exuberant with youth, his father's face was more somber, though no less smooth and handsome.

"What business have you in Mirkwood?" he asked suddenly.

"I am lost, good King. I was injured, and your son saved me. I could not move. If you wish it I will leave when I am able…" she said softly. Thranduil's lips pursed slightly.

"My son has a tendency to champion the creatures he pities. He has a heart the size of Mirkwood itself, and it has brought him much grief," Thranduil said, his dark grey eyes pinning her with a hard look.

"I do not wish grief upon anyone, Your Majesty. I was brought here by accident-,"

"The Valar do not make mistakes. You are here for a reason, I just have yet to see it," he said sharply. Draca winced, looking down at the blanket across her lap. This man had the power to make her stay in Mirkwood very dreadful - or her stay on the Mortal Coil very short.

"I don't...have many skills. I am not a great speaker, or a powerful fighter. I am a good friend. I am a good witch. What magic I can access I will use to repay the debt I owe to your son. I can give you my word on the very magic that runs through my blood that I will repay my debt. Somehow," she said. Thranduil felt the heavy, tingling feeling of magic in the room, and knew that her word had been taken as Oath.

"There is something about you, _Taltistar_…" he murmured. Her face flushed uncomfortably from the name. **(Falling Wizard)**

* * *

The first week of being a dragon sucked. The first week of being a dragon walking through the god-awful land of Mordor sucked so much. The collar was cold and hot at the same time, making his scales itch and causing him to scrape his slender neck across rocks and sand, which in turn made the scales thin and raw.

To pass the time he sang aloud. He could not form words on the tongue of the dragon, but he could very well keep tune to songs. So it was really more like loud humming.

He had not found anything to eat. There was no life in the marshes he crossed. There was nothing but mud and death. The heavy, invasive dark magic that showed him the bodies of men long passed made him shudder. The stinking, dank water made his raw neck throb and coated his scales in thick, hideous grime. He smelled like dog doo. He had only tried to drink the foul water once. Just dipping his tongue into it had made his tongue taste like putrid meat for a very long time.

He slept during the night. He had no reason not to. There was no predator alive that would actively attack a dragon, and he was black and dirty enough to blend into the landscape even sitting under the light of the stars and moon.

He was exhausted, dry and thirsty, and almost cried at the sight of running water. The waterfalls were beautiful, to be sure, but the fish in the pool below sated a hunger that had been gathering since he left Mordor. He ate until his belly felt like it would pop before he crawled under a gentler part of the falls and fell asleep while the water washed away Mordor's grime.

He awoke several hours later to the sounds of people. From the rustic look of their clothes, and the many packs they carried, they were travelers.

He stuck to the shadows of the falls, using the water to hide himself. The travelers were refreshing themselves by the rivulet that ran off from the still pool. One of the men withdrew a wooden pole from behind him, affixed with twine, and James realized the man was coming to the pool to fish. They were going to camp by the falls. Damn. It. The water was fine and refreshing for a travelling dragon, but his cold blood would kill him if he tried to stay under the falls til night. He wanted to find civilization and find out where on God's green earth he was. He wanted this collar off. He wanted a Snickers bar.

James began the arduous task of climbing up the rocks of the falls. Though he was no longer under the water, the wet rocks were dark enough to hide him. The rocks were slick under his paws, but his thick, sharp claws gave him purchase on the stone.

He was almost to the top. The travelers had not seen him and he was so close to the top he could almost see where the river fell downward. But as he reached up a front claw his back paw slipped on the wet rock, and he fell. He bounced downward over the rocks painfully before hitting the bank of the river with a splashy thump.

He lifted his head, dazed, and looked right into the face of the fisherman. They stared at each other for a moment, James trying to stop his vision from spinning and the man trying to comprehend what he was looking at.

"Dra-," the man started. James inwardly cursed. "Dra-," he tried again, his eyes dilating. James didn't move. "_DRAGON_!" he finally screamed, moving back from the river. James looked up to see the others scrambling for weapons. There were four of them, and James noticed that the man was now brandishing the fishing rod as a weapon. Un-amusing.

His black tongue flitted out, testing the air. There was one over there that tasted of metal, meaning he likely had a blade. Nobody tasted like magic, meaning these were muggles.

His large ears moved backwards, pinning to his head as he pulled his lips off of his teeth and growled. He would prefer just to scare them away. He didn't like fleeing, but he would choose that over harming them. One of the men behind the fisherman began to cry, and James risked a glance at him. Christ...he was only a boy, no older than fifteen.

He covered his teeth with a rumble, sitting on his haunches in the water and allowing his long tail to curl around him and tap at the water at his feet.

"What business have you here, flame tongue?" the fisherman asked in a trembling voice. James pointed at the pool with one claw and then held it to his snout, opening and closing his jaw to mime chewing. "We are armed, beast. We- we won't hesitate to kill you..." the man added, making a jab with the fishing pole.

_Really? This is just sad. They have a fishing pole, a limb, ONE of them has a knife, and the lad is sobbing so hard he can't see. If I wanted to eat you, I would have no match among you_, James thought to himself. His tail uncurled itself from around him and he stood to his feet again. He gave the fisherman a broad distance as he began to cross around him. His golden eyes watched them all, darting between them as he started up the rocky trail they had just come down.

A rock bounced off of his hind leg. He stopped and turned, glaring at the travelers he was walking away from. The one had dropped his limb and had several more river rocks in his hand. James opened his mouth and coughed, sending crackling sparks out of his mouth like he was burping up a firework. The effect was enough, because the one man with the blade took hold of the rock-thrower's arm, holding him as James sashayed away, his tail high like an angry cat.

"What were you thinking, throwing rocks at a_ dragon_? If he'd eaten you for that I may very well have laughed!"

James gave a rumbling laugh at the sound of one of the men yelling at the rock-tosser.

* * *

Rohan. The land he had travelled into was called Rohan. It was a quaint little place. And by quaint he meant it smelled like crap and all of the people were hippies, farmers, or guards. He had avoided detection amongst the villagers for several days, nicking sickly chickens and stray cats from the streets to feed on.

He had fallen asleep in a barn a few miles outside the main city for the night, burrowing into the hay face first. He was aware that as a flame-breathing lizard it was dangerous to be surrounded by such flammable material, but honestly it had been nigh on ten years since he had accidentally coughed up fire.

And to be fair, it had been all Tobias Snape's fault anyway. The arse had brewed highly concentrated syrup of the hottest chilies in the known world and had spiked James' breakfast with it. One moment he had been shoving scrambled eggs in his face and the next moment he had been leaning against the wall of the Great Hall coughing up great clouds of flame and steam. He had flown every single pair of Tobias' underwear from the House banner lines that evening, even adding a few decorative colorations to the back end.

There were two horses in the barn, but strangely enough they hadn't been too bothered by him. They had stared him down when he slinked in, but when he had crawled up into the hay loft they had merely whickered in annoyance and went to sleep.

* * *

Dydoc had always been a hard worker. Up before the sun and down long after she had gone back behind the horizon, his calling as a farmer had been well placed. He had a wife and three beautiful children. Two sons that were old enough to help him in the fields and a young daughter who would make someone's son very happy one day.

He rose for the morning with the ease of practice. His wife would sleep a bit longer as he took care of a few of the simpler chores before he would come back in for a hearty breakfast and then tackle the rest of the day.

He could tell there was something off about this day as soon as he got up. His clothes seemed stubborn, if such a thing could be said, and he nearly tripped getting into his leggings and boots. The lantern he always carried to light his way was difficult to light, as though the wick were hesitant. As he went to the well to get a cool drink to rinse the taste of sleep off of his tongue he noticed that the dipper he normally used had been placed on the edge of the well. He always hung it back on its peg after he was done with it. It was too easy to accidentally knock it into the well, and that was certainly difficult to retrieve. Perhaps one of the boys had gotten a quick drink before bed last night and had forgotten? He would have to speak to the lads…

The barn door was cracked open. He took one look at the door and went back into the house, retrieving the simple single edge sword above the mantle. His father had given it to him when he came of age. The sword was a plain iron blade, but it had served its purpose and protected his family several times over the years. He drew the blade from its sheath and went back outside, heading for the barn with purpose. In the other hand he carried his lantern.

There didn't seem to be anything wrong at first. The horses were still sleeping in their stalls, and he could see nothing lurking in the corners. As he passed the rustic ladder to the hay loft, though, he paused. Looking closely at the rungs he could see strange scratches in the wood. These weren't made by his boots.

He hooked the lantern on the rope he had hung there to light his way in the loft should he ever go there at night. He would pull the lantern up to him when he reached the top. The sword was jabbed down through his belt out of the way as he climbed. The climb was short and as he came to the top he drew the rope up after him, lighting the hay loft in its glow. He could see nothing ami-

Something long, slender and black swished underneath a mound of hay. Dydoc's eyes widened. A snake! It was very, very large. He wouldn't lie….serpents frightened him. As he reached down to grab the snake by its tail, the whole mound of hay moved. His breath and heart nearly failed him as the hay was pushed aside to reveal a black dragon nestled quite comfortably in its depths. It had rolled nearly to its back, and the long paws were sticking up like dog's. The back leg even twitched in slumber.

The underbelly, while armored, was much softer than the hard, shiny scales on the rest of its body. Dydoc began to pray silently as he drew the sword from his belt. He carefully raised it above his head, and took a step forward. The old wood of the barn creaked loudly under his boot. The soft breath of the dragon halted immediately, and both man and dragon were quiet for several moments.

James' tail struck suddenly, grasping the man's ankle and pulling hard. Dydoc fell under the unexpected onslaught, landing hard on his back and dropping the sword, which skittered over the edge of the hay loft. James rolled to his feet and shot forward, landing over the prone farmer and putting his face close to the man's.

He saw fear. He smelled fear. James was not an expert at Legilimancy, but he was decent enough to see into the man's thoughts. He saw three children and a wife in the eyes that began to water.

"Why do you wait, monster?" the man growled, his voice much steadier than his nerves. James pulled back swiftly, sitting on his haunches and wrapping his tail around himself as he had done when he encountered the travelers at the river.

Dydoc sat up, confusion etched deeply into his weather-worn face.

"What do you seek? There is no treasure here. No dwarven palace like Erebor. No rich kingdom like Gondor," he said, the adrenaline coursing through his body making him tremble. "King Fengel will have you killed,"

James shot forward and Dydoc gasped, his hands coming forward to protect him from a blow that never came. He heard the barn door slam open, and skittered to the edge of the loft to see the dragon running off. He let out a great breath and rested his head against the wood. He would need to go into the city and warn the King. A dragon on the loose would be bad business….but who would believe him?

As if to answer his questions he saw a small glimmer in the hay and reached forward, plucking up the shiny black scale that had fallen from the dragon's hide.

James cursed and spluttered the whole way. Dawn was quickly coming, and a black dragon was obvious in the autumn rusted grass of this land. He quickly decided that he would travel by the waterside. He had gathered enough from listening to the various night time conversations to know that there was a large river running along the eastern border of Rohan. He would travel eastward until he reached the Anduín River, and then travel upwards along its bank until…until… He had no idea what he was looking for, but it was always a good idea to stay beside water.

* * *

The further up the river he got, a strange feeling began to take place. The collar around his neck….twitched for a better word. It was nearly another week before he could put his paw on the feeling. There was a branch of the river running back into the main river from westward. It came through a forest. The woods were quiet from the outside.

He paced along the edge of the wood, sniffing at the trees and deciding whether to turn back and keep traveling up the Anduín or to risk crossing this wood.

There was something magical about this wood. He placed a paw on one of the tree trunks, and could almost feel it humming beneath his muddy claws. A small bird flew too close to his head, curious of the black visitor, and James' jaws snapped upwards suddenly, trapping the bird in his mouth.

"I would drop that if I were you,"

He blinked. He hadn't heard anyone around. He turned to see several men standing behind him, all sighting him with nocked bows. He opened his jaw and the bird shot out, twittering fearfully. One warrior stepped forward, his bow pulled back tautly at James' head.

"What business have you on the border of Lothloríen?"

* * *

Well. James certainly knows how to pick them, doesn't he?

Now. As for travel time. I have been staring at a map of middle earth for the past several days. James started right at the base of the mountains of Udûn (right at the upper nifty little right angle of Mordor). He passed over the dead marshes and ended up at the base of the falls of Rauros. Rather than have him go directly upwards and then follow the Anduín river, I decided to let him enter Rohan proper, skirting about the minor settlements and a few farms to get his bearing. Then he decided to find the Anduín again and travel upward.

He did this very, _very _quickly I will admit. But there are several reasons for this. James is traveling by himself. He has no one to worry about. He travels by day and does not worry about where he sleeps at night. Even the bravest of orcs would not actively seek out the scent of a dragon, not matter what his size is in comparison to Smaug. James is traveling by a river, having access to fish and water. He is a dragon, and has better than human stamina. He isn't flying because he doesn't want to bring attention to himself. He can use magic but he has no idea where he is and doesn't want to attempt to Apparate to a place that doesn't exist, which could prove fatal. Just a little background for ya.

James is not seeking to harm anyone. That's why he hasn't just gutted someone. He doesn't want to kill a person. I know we haven't seen Phelan or Orion yet, but I've got big plans for them. I hope to hear some feedback from you guys. It seems there are a couple people who have favorite it, but I so love to see your names pop up in the review alert. :D

Update A/N: Draca is not a Mary Sue. I promise I have a good reason for giving her pointy ears if you'll just be patient with me. She is not turning into an elf. She just...got a characteristic of one. Ai...give me until next chapter and I'll try to make it more understandable. Don't quit on me yet!


	5. Elf Biscuits

There was a bit of a surprise in the last chapter with Draca, and she gets a little theoretical as to what happened right here. I thank everyone for their interest. I do a bit of a time skip in the latter half of the chapter, but I think you'll like why. :)

Now, I would love to hear what you guys think. I know that mostly the sign of a good story is when people favorite or follow, but a good review is like honey to the soul. I _like _them. :D And I hope you like this new chapter.

* * *

Chapter 5 - Elf Biscuits

Draca sat cross-legged on the bed, staring hard at the wall opposite her. She was confused. Very confused, and she didn't like being in the dark. There was something at work here that she couldn't quite put her finger on. The portal that she and her friends had gone through had brought them to this world. She could very well say that it had been completely random. She could suppose that of all of the worlds and dimensions and crazy alternate realities that existed that it could have been an extreme coincidence that they had arrived here.

And honestly, she wasn't sure that they were all in one place. Once they had passed through the blackness of the portal, they had been separated. It was quite possible that all four of them had landed in different worlds. But as it were, she was here, and she needed to come up with some answers.

The King of Mirkwood had not come to visit her again, but she talked often with his son, Legolas. The young elf (and she used that term loosely, for he was over two thousand years old…) was easy to talk to and had an ease of presence that made it easy for her to talk.

She had several theories so far. Just because she was a girl didn't mean she was stupid, and she had done quite well in her studies at Hogwarts.

Once the shock of pointy ears and strange palaces had worn off, she began to think about this specific world. The elves here were beautiful. There hadn't been anything like them in her world for several millennia. As a matter of fact, her own family had a few streaks of the High Elven blood running through it. That blood was not considered Creature blood, per se, and was highly prized amongst the Purebloods as a magical strength in their lines.

It was possible that the High Elven blood in her veins had awoken this appearance within her. And honestly, it wasn't that much of a difference. She was not fully elven. Legolas possessed his own inner light, glowing even when there was no light. She did not. She was pale, for certain, but she did not have that otherworldly luminescence that marked these people.

So her ears were pointy. She could admit that she heard things a bit clearer, but that seemed to be the only advantage so far. She had never had need for spectacles, and so her eyesight was unaffected. Her magic was not touched that she could tell, but at the moment she could not access it all anyway, and so that was a moot point.

Maybe she felt lighter. But that could also have to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten while she was unconscious, and really didn't have that much of an appetite when she had woken up.

Magical theory was deep and extremely complicated. In theory magic could accomplish most anything. Many limitations on magic had been shattered by James in the past few years. He didn't accept limitations as certainties, and pushed far beyond what others had accomplished. His tragedy at the hands of those monsters had awakened a deep understanding of magic in him, and he could wield it like no other she had ever seen.

Legolas had sat with her and listened as she theorized. He did point out that this world was ruled by beings far greater than the elves. The Valar. They were the ones who made all the decisions and wove all the important details into the world. She and her friends could not have come here without their permission. She must be needed for something important if she was there, ere she would not have been allowed to inhabit this dimension.

It was all so very confusing, really. As it were, though, it did make her a bit easier to accept amongst the Mirkwood elves. A full human would have been met with distrust and nigh on distaste by the others. They did very little business with Men, and liked it that way. A half-elf was uncommon, but highly more trustworthy. At least in their opinion.

As the days passed and she was fully recovered she was given a room in the guest quarters of the cave palace. It wasn't a large room, but it was well furnished and comfortable. Legolas had taken to leading her around and pointing out parts of the palace to her so that she wouldn't get lost. He took her to the dining hall, the entertainment hall, they passed through the throne room, and he even took her to some of the outside gardens. The palace of Mirkwood was a lovely place. The trees were beautiful and tall, and Draca noticed that there was a certain magic to this place that couldn't be ignored by those who could sense it.

So she set about getting the Prince of Mirkwood to help her make a new wand.

* * *

_Son of a monkey-eating walrus-faced whore monger!_ James thought angrily, glaring at the tip of the arrow. He had not heard anything at all. While he did not consider himself the best hunter, he was quite proud of his stealth and his ability to...slink.

He opened his mouth and raised his paw to attempt an explanation (even though he could not talk) and the stranger in front cut him off with an angry exclamation.

"We don't want to hear your venomous lies, worm!" he sneered. James' paw went limp, though his mouth stayed open, and annoyance clearly etched itself across his golden eyes.

_Well shit, son...if you didn't want my answer then why ask? You ass-hat._ James grumbled to himself, finally putting his paw down and glaring at the archer. This guy...smelled weird. As a matter of fact...all of these guys smelled weird. There was something about them that smelled...fruity?

_They are Elves._ A voice in his head sounded softly, like a whisper in the dark.

_Oh hell no!_ His mind screamed, and he pulled down every Occlumens shield he had ever heard about, and then invented a few more on the spot and threw those up too.

"Such strength of mind,"

The elfy guys lowered their bows slightly and stared at the figure that emerged from the wood. She was beautiful, James admitted, and seemed to emit an ethereal light of her own. She was wearing a gown of white that glittered as though dipped in gold. She was barefoot as she walked amongst the leaves, and James could swear that the grass itself seemed to thicken and cushion her steps.

"Lady Galadriel! It is dangerous in the presence of this slithering inferno..." the main archer said, sounding nervous in the presence of the lady.

_Your mum is a slithering inferno... _James so wished he could speak. It would make insulting people so much easier. But he had to admit some amount of awe for this...'Lady.' Mayhap she wasn't as big a pushover as she looked.

"I have read his mind. I am intrigued," she spoke softly, stepping close to him. Her eyes were clear and blue, like the ocean, and James felt himself entranced by them. Such lovely thoughts...perhaps he should just let the Lady read him-

And he hissed suddenly, shaking his head and taking to the nearest tree like a large black squirrel. He was on a high branch before the fruity archers could react. And that was saying something. Galadriel looked up into the branches with clear surprise on her fair features. James glared at her from the branch, hissing again.

He didn't give two flying frigs if she was intrigued or not. She wasn't getting in his mind. He would imagine Fruity Pebble over there naked before he would let some woodland tart in his mind. With a roar of frustration he launched himself from the tree, his black wings spreading and flapping mightily. One of the archers had fired on him, and the gust of wind from his wings knocked the arrow aside, and it fell back to earth uselessly.

Galadriel held up a hand to stop them. She watched as James winged away, her blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. She felt no ill will in his mind. He was not...not from this land, that was for certain, but he meant the land no harm. That collar around his neck, though. She would have liked to find out more about it. The very presence of it made her angry and frightened at the same time.

"Lady Galadriel...Lord Celeborn would not be pleased if we let harm come to you," the archer said, watching the retreating form of the dragon. Galadriel turned to the Marchwarden, and he quailed under her gaze.

"Even if the dragon had meant harm, I am well able to defend myself. I am ever appreciative of your vigilance, Haldir, but do not forget I have been around long enough to remember a certain elfling running through the forest after a dip in Nimrodel, without a stitch of clothing on." she said pointedly, and Haldir flushed a splotchy red as the other elves snickered at his discomfort. "Don't laugh too heartily, Baranglas. I remember finding you three leaves to the wind in front of Calen's flet, singing a most rowdy drinking song about a goat," she said melodiously. Baranglas coughed. Galadriel's twinkling gaze fell over the others as they stifled their laughter, not wanting to see what the Lady remembered about them.

Silly elflings. Her laughter echoed behind her as the guards surrounded her to escort her back into the wood.

* * *

_(Two Years Later)_

He led the horse out of the barn, masked by the darkness of night. He very well _could _brave the wilds all by himself. He wasn't a _baby, _after all. He was _twelve_ summers. That was…that was plenty old enough for a few nights camping by himself. His _Ada_ would be upset for a bit, he was sure, but then he would get over it and be proud of him. He just hoped he didn't wallop him like he had that time he'd almost set Glorfindel on fire. Honestly….it was an _accident. _ It wasn't his fault Glorfindel was so frigging _flammable. _**(Father/daddy)**

He was careful to hide his tracks. He traveled over the water several times to lose anyone that may try to track him. He didn't _want _to be found. Sometimes it was nice to be out amongst the stars without anyone to interrupt your thoughts or make you study some Eru-awful dead language that no one but the Elves even knew existed anymore. He loved his family very much, but sometimes he could not understand the ancient knowledge they held so dear. It was old and dusty in the library.

His trip into the forest was two-fold, actually. Not only did he want to prove himself capable of taking care of himself for a few days, there was a rumor of an animal wandering the forest that had been killing deer and leaving naught but neat, clean skeletons behind. It had actually unnerved his _Ada_. So he was going to kill it.

He had all of the bravado any twelve year old boy had, with the same amount of common sense and only a little more skill.

He found one of the cleaned skeletons on the afternoon of the first day. It had been gnawed at by something with sharp teeth, and he wasn't quite mature enough to understand that anything able to take every strip of flesh clean off of a deer could certainly deal with him accordingly. He had a _sword _after all, and these poor stupid deer had nothing of the sort.

So what if it was only a practice blade, sharp on only one side and much shorter than a full-sized blade?

It was actually quite a bit of luck that kept him from being detected on into the second day. He unknowingly skirted several goblin packs during the day as they had settled in for the night, and would only realize his mistake as the sun went down. He tied the brown horse to a tree and climbed up into a higher branch to avoid predators.

It didn't work as well as he had wanted it to. He was awoken in the night by the scream of his horse as it pulled the inexpertly tied knot loose and bolted. He cursed in Elvish and climbed down; looking into the moon-dimmed forest to see if he could see what had spooked his horse. A hiss and thump startled him and he turned wide, grey eyes to the tree. He saw an arrow protruding from it, still trembling from impact.

"Elf biscuits," he said softly, before a goblin broke through the forest with a shout. He turned and ran, his elven-made boots light as he fled for his life. Suddenly he was aware of what a foolish quest he had taken, and exactly what it could cost him. He would not be the first or last young man to think too highly of himself and end his own life tragically.

A hiss and the sound of an arrow striking flesh was all the warning he had before his leg gave out and he landed with a crash. He had tried to throw his arms out to protect him from the fall, but his left hand gave way as the bone in his arm snapped. Then came the pain. He screamed in agony as the arrow broke off on impact with the ground. He looked down, and could just see the blood welling up and out of the wound and staining his trousers. He heard the heavy steps of the goblins and could see their shadows moving in the forest.

"What have we 'ere?" A grating voice asked, and a stout goblin stepped through the trees, its eyes catching the sparse light and gleaming with malice.

"I believe we've found _supper!_" Another voice supplied, and two more goblins stepped out of the woods.

Tears of pain and terror leaked from his eyes. This was not what he had planned for this trip at all. One of the other goblins had its sword drawn and approached him quickly, hoisting the blade to deliver a killing blow. He refused to look away, though, and stared proudly ahead as the blade started to come down.

There was a whoosh of air over his head as something large and black leapt over him, and the goblin was knocked arse-over-elbows away from the boy. The other goblins made exclamations of surprise and annoyance, before they got a good look and smell at their new visitor. One of them swore violently and they scattered like roaches in the light. The one that had been knocked away stood and drew a knife.

At first he thought he had been saved by a horse. The large black beast was on four legs, and was about the right size. Then he noticed the great wings held aloft behind it, and the slender, swishing tail. The creature turned to him, and he could see the moonlight reflected in golden, slitted eyes. Then it looked back at the goblin that was stupid enough to try and stand against it.

The dragon took a deep breath and shrieked at the goblin. The goblin dropped its knife, looked at the boy as if regretful for losing a meal, and then took off with its friends.

The boy winced as the dragon looked at him again.

"Pl-please. I'm s-sorry. I've tres-trespassed on your l-land," he whimpered, his injured arm being held protectively against his chest. The dragon stepped forward, tilting its head this way and that as it looked at his leg.

The pain was enormous. He had never been shot with an arrow before. He had cut himself on knives and such, but never before had he experienced such _pain._ The wound burned as if held against fire, and the pain was such that it made his eyes swim. That partnered with the pain in his arm was enough to make him long for the sweet release of unconsciousness.

The dragon's tongue flitted from its mouth, tasting the air, and he heard it give a grunt. A clawed paw reached up, and he shuddered violently as it rested on the knee of his injured leg. The dragon leaned closer to his leg, its tongue flitting again, before it pressed its nose almost against the arrow and sniffed. Its head shot back in surprise, and it seemed to be regarding him with….pity? What could make a dragon pity- oh. Oh damn.

"P-poison," he whispered. "Elf biscuits."

The dragon sighed softly, and went down on its belly before him. He was surprised. "You want m-me to get on your b-back?" he asked. The dragon grunted. "Are…are you g-going to eat me?" he couldn't help the childish question that escaped his mouth. The dragon's head turned towards him and it pinned him with a _look. _It was one of the looks his _Ada_ had given him some of the times he had asked an outstandingly stupid question. He couldn't tell if the dragon was thinking him stupid for asking, or because it was an obvious 'yes.'

He moved as gingerly as he could, although he did give a spectacular yelp when he had to throw his injured leg over the dragon's neck. When he had settled against the scales the dragon stood. It was similar to riding a horse, if the horse had been covered in hard scales. The scales were smooth like a fingernail, but he was sure it was much harder than that. The dragon began to walk, and he buried his head against the slender neck to attempt to muffle his cries of anguish. He could only hold on with one hand.

* * *

James was stoic as the young man cried against him. It was annoying, to be sure, but he could well understand the pain and emotional torment the boy must be feeling. He had been tracking the boy since he had crossed the Bruínen. The lad was much too close to the Trollshaws and didn't have the common sense God gave a mule. He had known he would need to interfere eventually. He'd hoped to do it before the little moron was injured. Now he might well have to bury the little bastard.

Goblin poison wasn't extremely complicated, but it was highly effective. He himself had been pinned with a few goblin arrows in his time, and the poison was enough to make him ill for days. But in a human child it could very well be deadly.

His lair was an hour away, protected and hidden by a mixture of old-fashioned ingenuity and new-fangled magic. It was a hillside cave, deep underground and fed nearby with a gently running creek. He had been here for a little under two years. Traveling in these wilds and over the mountains had been hard, and he had nearly lost his life several times due to fatigue and ill-prepared travels. Hell, he had almost gotten struck by lightning trying to fly through a storm over a high mountain peak. The land over the mountain was peaceful and untamed. He had settled into this little barrow quite nicely. He would bide his time until he could figure out something to do to retrieve his friends, and then he would act.

The boy had stopped crying after a half-hour, but James wasn't relieved. He could feel the boy's body temperature starting to drop, which was a mixture of blood-loss and venom. He quickened his pace, jostling the boy as little as possible.

He reached the cave in record time, quickly passing through the curtain of vines that concealed the opening. He aimed a puff of breath to a torch he had fashioned and it sprang to life, throwing a warm orange glow on the rest of the cave.

It was a spacious room, and he had decorated it in his own fashion. There was a comfy bed in the corner, consisting of dried grass covered with traveling cloaks that he had found and/or pilfered. There were a few stones piled neatly next to the bed. These stones were of just the right texture to grind and sharpen his claws. Many times he had chipped the tip of a claw and had needed to re-do the point for hunting and climbing. He also had a chime of bone and river-clay shards that tinkled pleasantly when the wind blew around the entrance of the cave.

He owned a leather satchel that he had found abandoned in the woods and he sometimes carried with him if he were going to be away. He would wear it around his neck, tied with a strip of fabric. An entire wall of the cave was dedicated to herbs and plants of many varieties. James had been a very good potions student, and for this reason he had taken to collecting and studying the various floras in this strange land. He had found that having four legs and claws did not remove his ability to brew. In fact…

He walked over to the bed and went down on his belly, tilting himself so that the boy slid bonelessly from his back. The lad yelped in surprise, holding his broken arm against him and clutching at his leg. James pulled back one of the cloaks to reveal the dry grass, and began pushing it around to form a mound. He recovered the grass and maneuvered the boy as gently as he could against it, keeping him in a sitting position with his injured leg towards James.

Then, he went about finding the heavy metal pot (he had made it a point to steal it from a band of traveling circus-type freaks). It served as a great potions pot. He had a much lighter pot that he used for cooking. He filled the pot with water from the bucket he kept filled, and set about making a fire in the cave. He usually made fires nearer to the entrance so the smoke wouldn't back up into the cave, but honestly smoke didn't bother him that much. He didn't want to set his comfy bed on fire. He put the pot of water onto the fire to boil.

There were lots of plants around here that were good for poison. Some were better when dried, others good when picked fresh. He himself had come up with a good paste that would counteract the poison quickly, cutting down the illness to about three days. That was for him, anyway. He hadn't tried the paste on a human yet. As a matter of fact, he had not interacted with anyone since his flight from Lothloríen two years ago. He kept it that way, preferring to live in silence.

He tossed several fresh leaves of a plant into the pot, before sprinkling in a generous paw-full of a dried herb. Then he used a deer-bone as his stirring rod, having found it more magically potent in this healing paste than wood and easier to find than iron or metal.

The boy moaned in pain, and James left his brew to see to him. He fetched two straight lengths of wood, and made a quick stop at a bundle of fabric he kept as extra blankets. He used his claws to cut several long pieces of cloth. Then he carried them back to where the boy was lying, and gingerly lifted the broken arm. The boy was lucky that it was a relatively clean break, and he would be able to set it with little difficulty. His claws ripped the fabric of the boy's shirt away with scissor-like accuracy. James actually paused for a moment, studying the young face for a moment before he put his paws along the bone.

The resulting scream of the boy pierced James' ears and made him pity him. A little, anyway. This little moron had gotten himself into all of this trouble. He quickly splinted the arm and bound it with the strips of fabric. He carefully removed the leather boots, his eyes whirling a bit at the strong scent of a human's foot, before he looked at the arrow wound.

It was deep, that was for certain, and the blood around the wound was already turning dark and tar-like, a clear symptom of this particular poison. He wrapped his paw around the stub of the arrow shaft, bracing the boy with his other claw, before he pulled it out with a soft squelch of flesh. To the lad's credit he didn't scream, but his other foot did lash out and catch James in the chin. The boy should count himself lucky he didn't split his foot open on his teeth. Ungrateful brat.

He retrieved the hot paste from the fire, carrying the pot in his bare claw as though it weren't fresh from the flame. He placed it next to the bed as he worked. He was glad to see that there was a pair of undershorts beneath the leggings he tugged off of the boy. It wasn't that he was particularly squeamish of other men's anatomy, having played Quidditch and shared a shower many times, but he didn't want to deal with a pre-pubescent boy who may or may not know enough to think he was some kind of kiddy-fiddling dragon.

He used the thin paste to clean the wound, and then began binding the leg with make-shift bandages. The boy winced and cringed, but he didn't lash out at James again. When he had bound the leg, he looked up to see the boy staring at him with cloudy grey eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, the poison setting in and making him feel weak and heavy. James merely stared at him with large golden eyes. "Why are you...helping me," the boy clarified, wincing at a pain in his arm. James moved away from him, consulting his wall of herbs again. He plucked the fresh leaf of a brightly colored flower from a collection, and brought it with him. The lidded eyes watched as he held the leaf out, right at the boy's lips. The boy watched him, and it was a testament to the last bit of clarity he had when he didn't open his mouth immediately.

James, though, was annoyed. He opened his mouth and mimed putting the leaf between his jaw, making chewing motions, before holding the leaf back to the boy. The boy sniffled, but opened his mouth obediently. James pressed the leaf against his tongue, and the boy moved it to his teeth and began to chew.

The leaf had a strong pine flavor, a little on the bitter side at first, but once he had chewed for a moment the flavor sweetened a little before it was gone. He waited for a few moments to see the effect, before he was surprised as the sensation of agony in his body relaxed a bit. The leaf was a pain reliever!

"_Hantonyel,_" the boy murmured. James' golden eyes stared at the boy blankly. He gave a small grin. "I thank you, dragon. You heal as well as my _Ada_," the voice was growing weaker from exhaustion. James merely grunted, having no way to know if this was as good as the boy seemed to think it was. He instead reached over and pulled a loose cloak over the boy's cool body. He looked up into the boy's face again, noticing his eyes were closed. A clawed hand reached out, gently pushing the dark, wavy hair away from the lad's eyes. The boy mumbled something, reaching up a hand to rest cool fingers over James' paw. **(I thank you.)**

"I am Estel."

* * *

So now we have a time line going. Estel (Aragorn) is twelve years old at the time. This makes the year TA 2943. The journey to Erebor was finished in TA 2941, so this is two years after the defeat of Smaug. You got a couple hints last chapter with the name of the current King of Rohan.

I did fudge the timeline a little. . But to be fair it was so I could make Sauron an awesome, bad-ass physical character. _Technically _Sauron didn't really reveal himself until TA 2953 when he decided to start ripping down some monuments to his defeat by some guy most of you don't know. Soooo…..there's that. Honestly it's not going to make much of a difference in the long run. :/ Especially to the casual fan. XD

So I hope to hear some feedback from you guys, and hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	6. The Way Home

Wow a long one! That's what took so long, I swear! . . Yeah….I was writing. So this one is longer because there's action. Sweet, action goodness. I hope you'll like it. I sacrificed a lot of oreos and sun-drop to bring you this chapter. :D I think I may be going into sugar shock. LULZ.

I hope to hear some feedback from you all! It's certainly appreciated when you follow or favorite!

* * *

Chapter 6 – The Way Home

When it had been discovered that Estel was gone, Elrond was miffed. The boy was far too compulsive for his own good. He would doom the world with his carelessness if he wasn't careful. But that wasn't fair…Estel would have no way of knowing that his destiny was tied up so greatly in so many important things.

When Estel wasn't back by the end of the day, Elrond was angry. Of all of the inconsiderate things to do, running off without even so much as leaving a note was irresponsible. He'd thought that he had been raising the boy better than that. He was young, yes, but that didn't give him an excuse to ignore how his actions affected others.

When he was missing into the second day, Elrond was worried. He hadn't sent anyone after the lad, thinking he had been impulsive and gone for a bit of exploring in the valley. Now he was missing and it very well could be that he was injured or dying somewhere. But by the time evening fell he could do nothing else but wait until morning to send someone looking for him.

When Estel's horse returned that night, sides heaving and a stray goblin arrow tangled in its mane, Elrond's heart was burdened with worry and grief. Estel was no stranger to a sword, but he had not been presented a true blade as of yet. His practice blade would not be an adequate defense against a number of enemies. Especially ones that were armed more heavily and fiercer in their pursuit of an enemy.

He turned his face towards the sky, his heart burdened as he sought the place his father's star would shine when the sun's light faded.

"Do not let me lose him. I have failed so many in my time. I have lost my King. I have lost many friends. I have seen my wife sail into the Undying Lands. Please do not take my son. Have mercy on the soul of a mortal child," he prayed.

He could only hope that wherever Estel was that he was not in pain.

* * *

For days and nights James tended to the young man, changing the makeshift bandages several times as the paste drew out the foul poison. The broken arm was kept still as possible, with James going so far as to bind it against Estel's chest as the lad turned over into the feverish stage of venom-illness.

James had counted three major stages of this particular strain of poison. The first was rather short and painful, being where the poison set in and made the very blood that flowed through the veins feel as though it were hot tar. He had gotten to the wound quick enough that the lad had been spared the worst of that stage. Stage two was the fever and the delirium. This lasted the longest.

It had taken two days for him to reach the delirium stage as James' ministrations stayed the poison from tarnishing his blood. But on the eve of the second day in James' care, Estel began to moan and writhe under the cloak James used as a blanket. His body sweated mercilessly, and James finally had to start soaking cloaks in the nearby river to bring the dangerously high fever down. He knew with the warmth of the boy's body and the humidity from the wet cloaks he would have to gather new fronds for his bed-nest. This was a pity, because while it was not a difficult task, it was time consuming to gather enough to make a comfortable mattress.

He slept next to the lad, waking several times during the night to force cool herbal tea into the boy's mouth to keep him hydrated and nourished. Sometimes Estel would turn over and cry out names in his sleep, and James assumed it was the names of his family. But the most piteous times were when he whimpered the word _Ada._ James assumed this was his parent or guardian's title. He had mentioned this _Ada _was a Healer. Not being able to interact with society he did not yet know this world well enough to know whether being a Healer was primarily a man or woman's role.

The fever broke after another grueling two days, and the delirium faded after the lad had been in his care a week. But James was not entirely relieved. Because the third stage of the poison was a sickness that had nearly killed him the first time it claimed him. It was a weakness of the body, and seemingly the spirit, that left one completely at the mercy of the environment. James knew he could most likely get the boy to continue to drink the cool sweet teas of herbs and fruit nectar, but he would also have to be diligent to make sure the lad's lungs didn't just stop from exhaustion.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that he was not in a light, airy hall of Imladris. When he looked up he could see a stone ceiling, but it was roughly hewn and poorly lit. A torch burned merrily nearby, casting an orange glow around him. His arm ached, but it did not hurt so badly that he felt he would lose consciousness. His leg was a dull throb, stinging slightly when he shifted it.

He was warm. There was a cloak tucked around him as a blanket, and he was nestled into a bed consisting of the thick material of more cloaks, and the rustling of some kind of grass or leaf. He turned his head to the right as saw the stone wall against the back of the cave. There was a small mosaic of river stones, clay shards and bone affixed to the wall, no bigger than the length of his forearm and not quite as tall. The scene was of a pale horse, its mane trailing behind it in mid leap. But the horse was unusual in the fact that it had a spike- nay, a horn protruding from its forehead.

He turned to the other side of him, and nearly cried out at the sight of a dragon sleeping right next to him. The great black beast was curled into itself like a cat, its tail tucked close with the very tip swishing about in sleep. The scales glittered with an opalescent hue, like an insect's wing, and he marveled as smoke sometimes curled lazily from the nostrils.

The cave did not have the fabled stench of a dragon. This place was very clean and had the herbal, earthy smell of his Ada's office. Estel winced as the dragon yawned, revealing large, gleaming teeth, before the creature stretched out its powerful reptilian body. He could see the muscles moving under the protective hide of scales, and the long talons gleamed on its front claws as they clenched and unclenched sleepily. The back legs stretched out as well, the back toes splaying and bones creaking as the large creature changed position.

It groaned softly and heaved its body, rolling towards its back and sending its legs up in the air in an attempt to make itself more comfortable. Estel watched in amusement as the dragon's mouth fell open and the forked tongue lolled out like a large, scaly dog. The legs moved suddenly as though he was running, and Estel could not stifle the manic giggle that escaped his mouth at the morbidly amusing sight.

The dragon's body went deathly still, and Estel wondered if he had made a grave error. Suddenly the creature rolled again, coming to its feet and bringing its head towards him. The head was triangular, with a long face and narrow muzzle. He had rounded nostrils at the tip of his snout that flared as he sniffed, and thick scales formed a ridge that traveled from the tip of his snout all the way back and over his head, forming an eyebrow-like protrusion that both protected his eyes and moved with emotional expression.

The eyes were bright in the torchlight, gold flecked with deep bronze speckles, and the slitted pupils were narrow in the dim illumination. The animal was studying him.

"W-well met, Master Dragon," Estel said politely. The forked tongue flitted out, and the dragon snorted softly, sending a puff of air into his face that smelled lightly of smoke. Rather like the air of a sight that had recently boasted a campfire.

James snorted at the boy's weak greeting. A quick glance at the doorway showed him the dim beams of morning, so he went about starting the fire so that he could make breakfast. He retrieved his leather satchel and tied it about his neck, before looking at the boy. He pointed a claw at him and grunted. The boy swallowed.

"Me?" he asked. James nodded. Then he turned and pointed at the entrance of the cave, shaking his head emphatically and hoping the boy understood. "Don't leave?" he guessed. James gave him a nod, and then slinked out of the entrance.

He was back within an hour and they enjoyed fresh fish roasted on little spits over the fire. The mild meat of the river fish was of enough substance to fill Estel, without being so heavy that it upset his long-empty stomach. Estel had winced as James made herbal tea on the fireplace, putting it in a chipped clay cup and pushing it towards him. His father's medicinal teas were bitter and hard to drink. But after a small sip of the dragon's tea, he found himself enjoying the fruity, herbal broth.

Estel watched the dragon openly. It was not every day one found themselves in the presence of such an intimidating creature, and even less often that said creature saved one from deadly goblin poison and made them tea. The dragon seemed to have the manners of a nobleman. He did not guzzle the fish as Estel had thought he would, instead taking more manageable mouthfuls of the steaming meat. He didn't make any indication that the bones bothered him. In fact, the dragon ate the _entire _fish, head included, before tossing the wooden skewer into the flames and retrieving another one. A clay bowl filled with water sat at his feet and he lifted it with his free paw, tipping some of the water into his mouth and then replacing the bowl.

"Master Dragon," Estel said, and the golden eyes flickered towards him. "I…how long have I been here?" he asked. The dragon stared at him for a few moments, the long tongue swiping at a small piece of meat caught in his teeth. He held up the paw that wasn't holding the fish, and raised two of his sharp claws. Estel's brows furrowed. "Two….days?" he asked hopefully. The dragon sighed and shook its head. "Two….weeks…." Estel replied. The dragon nodded. "_Ada _must be so worried…" he whispered, putting aside the roasted fish and putting his face into his hands.

James had a hard layer of armor protecting his body, but not his heart. No matter what the form James wasn't untouchable by emotion. He stood to his feet and walked around the fire where the boy sat, reaching out and resting a clawed hand on the boy's good shoulder. Estel looked up, his grey eyes swimming with unshed tears. He seemed to be on the brink of asking a question that frightened him.

"Will you allow me to go home?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. James seemed surprised by the answer, before he realized that dragons were not well thought of in this world. The corners of his mouth twitched as his lips parted in a cheeky smile. He nodded. Estel still looked worried. "But how? It would take days for me to hike in my condition. My horse ran from the goblins the night you rescued me," he said. James stepped back, puffing himself up and resting a claw on his own chest. "You will take me? But dragon, there has never been one of your kind in Imladris!" he gasped.

James' prideful gaze vanished, replaced with an angry look. For a moment Estel feared for himself. Then James pointed towards the open mouth of the cave, glaring at the preteen. Estel looked towards the cave entrance, where the morning light had lit the place. The road he had taken had put him right in the middle of goblin territory, and he knew he was close to troll country too. He didn't want to go back by himself. He could brag to himself all day that he was old enough and brave enough, but that wouldn't make it true. He would never get home by himself. He shifted himself where he had sat with his legs wrapped in one of the cloaks, moving to the dragon on his knees as the hem of his long shirt brushed the floor.

James turned his face from the boy with a proud sniff. He felt the cool, tentative hand on his neck, brushing at the scales in a petting motion. Suddenly the thin, gangly arms were around him, and the boy was crying against his neck. The bandages from the injured arm brushed against him.

"_Goheno nin, amlug. G-Goheno nin. _Forgive me, please. I'm sorry if I insulted you. I owe you my life, Master dragon. I would take a thousand whippings for any trouble it caused to bring you if I could just go home again," Estel cried. Once again James' blasted heart was touched. The lad may be on the precipice of becoming a young man, but for the one foot he had towards adulthood he still had one foot firmly behind in childhood. **(Forgive me, dragon. Forgive me.)**

His arm lowered from pointing at the doorway, and he encircled the lad in a gentle embrace, patting the heaving shoulder. After a few moments the boy pulled back, swiping at his eyes. His injured arm brushed against the cold black collar around James' neck, which almost blended into the scales.

"What is this, dragon?" he asked with a sniffle. James' paw pulled back and rested on the collar. It bothered him sometimes. He saw those angry fire eyes in his dreams, heard the harsh, grating laugh, felt the pointed gloves on his flesh. Sometimes he even fancied that the Dark Lord would eventually have the metal close in on him during his sleep, choking the life from his body while he was helpless. The sharp claws raked slightly over the material, aware of the coldness.

But James didn't answer Estel's question. He couldn't, of course, but that was of no importance. He merely whined slightly in his throat. Estel was quiet, seemingly regretful of asking the question. But after a few moments the resilience of youth overcame his reluctant silence, and he drew in a breath.

"Can we leave today?" he asked. James looked him in the face, reaching up a claw to tip his chin a bit so he could stare into his eyes. The grey eyes were alight with life, but there was still weariness in them from his sickness.

James shook his head, and then made a motion with his hands. He brought the opposable thumb and index claw together to mime the sun as it went from east to west. Then he put his hands together and placed them beside his head to mime sleep. Then he held his left paw out, palm up, and made a walking motion with his other hand.

"Tomorrow?" Estel asked. James nodded. Estel looked disappointed, but he nodded in return. James gave a grunt, and pointed back to the cloak-nest. Estel looked over, and then groaned. "Do I have to?" he whined. James sat up straight, giving him a paternal look and pointing again. "Yes, Master dragon," he grumbled, carefully getting to his feet and walking across the cool dirt floor to the bed. His leg twinged a bit, but it was not painful any longer. He sat in the bed and sighed, leaning back against the mound of grass and looking every bit the reluctant patient.

_That will teach you to get shot by goblins, you little snot rag. _James thought to himself with mirth. Nevertheless, he gave a barking laugh and slinked to his leather satchel. He pulled the small metal clasp open and reached inside, removing the one book that he had ever come across. It was in the satchel when he found it, as a matter of fact, and had been protected from the weather. It was a simple volume no more than a hundred pages, written in a language he couldn't understand. The lad spoke a strange language. Maybe it was one and the same. He slipped the book between his teeth and turned.

He walked back to the bed and held it out towards Estel. The boy looked surprised, before taking the book from him. He opened the pages and glanced at the words.

"It's in Rohirric," he said, looking at James. James merely stared blankly back. "That's the language of Rohan. I am no expert at it, speaking mostly Elvish and Westron. But I can read it a bit. Thank you, dragon," he said, and immersed himself in the book.

James was just glad not to hear him whine.

* * *

The dragon had been quite the thorn in their side for a while now. He seemed to…'borrow' things with an efficiency he thought reserved only for shadows. The beast was highly intelligent, and did not fall for any of the traditional animal traps. It had never drawn blood or tried to take anything other than things that would be missed, but he was sure the creature didn't know it had been spotted several times. No one wanted to raise the alarm when they saw it, because so long as it just took small things, the people it stole from were not in any danger.

But it could change in the twinkle of an eye. What if the dragon decided suddenly that it wanted the tender flesh of one of the children? It was not a risk that he was willing to take with his people. They were travelers of these lands, traveling from village to village and town to town with shows of color and hand slights, colorful embroidered ribbon and jaunty music. They were simple people, and so every time they passed close enough to the dragon's territory and started missing things, they were bound to notice.

It had been nearly two weeks since the last incident. There was a bit of goblin activity in the area one night, and since then the dragon had been missing. He could only hope that the beast had taken damage from the foul goblins and would not bother them again.

It was too much to hope for, he discovered, as his brother approached him with a grim look.

"The dragon is moving in the woods. There is a rider astride its back," he said softly.

A small inhalation of breath. Any that could tame a dragon would be force to be reckoned with. Surely it was an orc or a creature of great destruction.

"Gather those who can wield a bow. We are going to surround them and try to rid the world of this great scourge. Tell them to keep back, I don't want to lose anyone to this beast," he said sharply, and his brother disappeared.

* * *

He had been taking his horse out every morning and traveling around to try and find Estel's trail. He was still hopeful. He still wanted to find his foster son and bring him home. Sometimes some of the others accompanied him. He wouldn't let Elladan and Elrohir both go. He would station one of them back in Rivendell just in case Estel made it home.

Today Glorfindel was accompanying him. The blond elven warrior was silent as they tried to explore. They had gotten a measure of success earlier, when they were finally able to pick up the trail of a horse in the forest. It had not been the escape trail made by Lithui, Estel's horse. That trail had been along the banks of the Bruínen and therefor washed out long before they could follow it.

They were _very _aware that this could just be a random trail. They had already followed one path back to a campsite, and were bitterly disappointed to find two Men there, neither of which was Estel.

The shouts ahead startled them. They spurred the horses into a gallop, coming quickly across a small group of men on a hill, firing on something in the valley of two large hills.

"What's going on here?" Elrond asked sharply. One of the men turned to dismiss the stranger, and did a double-take at the fine riding clothes and circlet. Then he saw the pointed ears and knew he must be talking to one of the Rivendell elves. They did not often stray from their valley-home.

"We seek to put down a dangerous animal that has been bothering our traveling camps. A dragon, Master Elf," he said, turning back towards the commotion.

"Dragon!" Glorfindel exclaimed. "In these parts?"

"The beast isn't large, mayhap a youngling? But he steals from our campsite and we can't take the risk any longer that he may seek to pilfer one of our children," the man said, firing off an arrow.

Elrond and Glorfindel dismounted quickly, moving to the crest of the hill. A black dragon was sitting at the base of the two hills. The dragon was not large in terms of his kind. Downright scrawny in comparison to the legendary size of fire drakes. The dragon was shifting and moving about to dodge some of the arrows, but he was not moving from the spot.

"He had a rider at one point, but we shot him off the back of the dragon, and the beast hasn't stopped protecting his Master. It makes him easier to fire on…" the man said, as if reading the thoughts of the elf-Lord.

Elrond could see there was a still figure under the dragon's legs. An arrow protruded from the back of the cloaked rider's shoulder, and he was face-down on the dirt. One arrow seemed like it would strike true on the dragon, but it skittered uselessly off of the scales when it struck, the angle having been off. There were several arrows protruding from the dragon already, but they were not deep enough to cause much more than discomfort.

Glorfindel withdrew his bow from behind his back, stringing it swiftly and reaching for an arrow. The movements were smooth and graceful, the result of centuries of training and battle. The man that had spoken to them stopped firing as he saw the fair-haired elf nock his bow. Glorfindel's sharp eyes could see that the dragon's weakest point would be the eyes. But he would have to not only sight the face, but make sure the dragon was turned towards him and not in the middle of a blink.

* * *

They had taken him by surprise. James had been walking with the boy, listening patiently as the boy told him of Imladris, or Rivendell in the Common Tongue, when the arrow had struck the boy in the back of the shoulder, knocking him clean off of James' back. James had immediately shielded Estel as a few more arrows rained down. They were surrounded. That much he could tell.

The arrows generally only glanced him, scratching at his scales harmlessly. But there were a few that hit at just the right angle and force that they had cracked the scales and buried themselves into the flesh. They stung and bled, but they were only superficial at best. He was more worried about Estel. He could not check the boy until the archers were out of ammunition. He only hoped that then they did not decide to converge with blades.

He turned to look at the top of one of the hills just as an arrow whizzed in front of his face. Had he not turned his head it would have skewered his eye. That would have been a fatal strike….and it was also well beyond the skill of any of the morons that had been firing on him for several minutes.

"Dragon…" He looked down at the boy as he struggled to turn over. James nuzzled him gently with the end of his snout. "You could leave if it were not for me. Go without me. Perhaps they will take mercy on a child of Man," Estel said softly.

James was angry that he had been caught unawares. If the lad hadn't been talking! He had a long string of uninterrupted cursing going on through his head, and it was enough to make Voldemort blush like a school girl. If the boy died under his feet he would eviscerate those dumb fuckers.

The thud of an arrow in flesh made him cringe, and suddenly Estel screamed in agony.

"_Noro, amlug!_ Flee!" he cried, moving himself to rest his still-healing hand on the new arrow wound. **(Run, dragon!)**

* * *

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other in horror at the sound of the voice. Glorfindel felt sick that he had been contemplating shooting the shrouded figure in an attempt to bait the dragon.

_There! _The figure moved and the hood fell away from his face, revealing the thin features of Estel.

"_Daro! Daro! Stop!" _Elrond cried, running over the crest of the hill and towards where the black dragon stood. Glorfindel was only a few steps behind him, their boots barely touching the grassy hill as they ran.

The archers did indeed quit firing, if only for the reason that it wasn't every day that two elves ran full-tilt at a dragon in the middle of the day. The dragon turned towards them, baring its fangs.

"Estel!" Elrond called. The boy responded immediately, twisting himself with a cry towards the voice.

"_Ada! Ada!_" he wailed, and James stepped back off of guarding the boy as the tall elf-Lord sank to his knees beside the injured lad. The cloak he was wearing was dusty and covered in grass, the back of it stained with blood from the fresh arrow wound. His left arm was splinted neatly and wrapped in strips of cloth. The material of his shirt had been cut away from it. His face was thin and pale, smudged in dirt and streaked with tears.

James watched the reunion for a few moments before he finally noticed that there was another of the foul creatures. The blond elf had him at sword-point, and he hadn't even realized it. He looked at the tip of the blade and then at the face of the blond elf. The eyes didn't waver from his face, pinning him with the ageless look of a warrior. They were elves, he could see the pointed ears and smell the clean, almost fruity tint to their smells that differed from the earthy, bitter taste of Men.

Estel's 'Ada' was binding his shoulder and leg quickly, a makeshift tie of strips of cloth from the edge of the cloak that would hold until they returned him home.

_Home._ The word was unfamiliar to James anymore. He'd lived at the cave for nigh on two years, but it had been a place to stay. He missed his father and mother, the raucous reunions of his mother's family…he missed his friends. Not only the ones that had come to this world with him, but the ones they had left behind. He missed Tobias' black humor. He missed Aden Dolohov's god-awful rowdy singing when they were drunk. He missed Perseus Pettigrew's shy, mousy nerdiness as he piddled around with the newest Muggle technology. He missed Draca's smile, and the way she sang to express her emotions. He missed Phelan's dirty jokes and tales from some of the other London werewolves. He missed Orion's way of cheering up the blackest mood.

The only warning they got was a soft whistle. The arrow landed perfectly along the line of his wing, where the muscled flesh connected to the rest of his body. There was a line of flesh that lay exposed, right next to his neck, and the force of the arrow drove it deep. James shrieked in agony and reared back dizzily.

_Thunk! _His buck was interrupted as an arrow landed clean in his breast. There was a moment when he stood on his two back legs, with two elves and a stunned man-child staring at him. He came down hard on his front paws, heaving to draw breath as blood leaked from the two new wounds. The world went hazy as he heard the cheers of the men on the hills.

He sat on his back haunches and keeled over neatly.

"No!" Estel screamed, wrenching away from his father's grasp and throwing himself bodily over the dragon's neck. "Dragon, no! Please, dragon! Please do not die!" he sobbed.

"Tis no fate he does not deserve after abducting you!" Elrond said tartly, reaching to grab Estel so that he could haul him up to the horses. The lad needed to be tended to.

"He _saved _me! When I ran away I was attacked by goblins!" Estel snapped. The two elves stilled upon hearing this. "I was struck by a poisoned arrow and broke my arm. Dragon took me to his cave and tended the poison! I would have _died. _And that would have been the most merciful ending. The goblins called me _supper, Ada. _They were going to _eat me._ And dragon cleaned my leg, and kept me warm, and he made tea for me and cooked river fish!" Estel was babbling now, his own blood loss and pain making his thoughts jumble like tangles of wiregrass. "He was bringing me home, _Ada. _He was bringing me home," and he dissolved into tears, burying his face into James' scaled neck.

"Success!" Elrond looked at the man who had met them on the hill. He looked very pleased with himself.

"Success? I believe that you could have hit my son with that last little escapade, not to mention the two arrows that have already marked him," he stood to his feet, holding out the hands that were stained with blood. The man paled slightly, his good mood dissipating.

"Well I can hardly be blamed that the lad was consorting with a dragon! Perhaps you should have kept the elfling tied tighter in the back yard-," The Lord of Imladris moved like a cobra, his hands striking out and grabbing the man by his grubby shirt, pulling him close and lifting him nearly from the ground to make him eye level.

"The 'elfling' is my _son. _ You will not speak in such a way about him, or I will bring the whole of the army of Rivendell on your band of petty vagabonds!" he hissed. Glorfindel's fine eyebrows quirked upwards. Sweet Elbereth, it had been a very long time since he'd seen the elf so ruffled. Besides...Imladris didn't have an _army, _per se. More like...a group of people trained as warriors and more than willing to defend their home should it come to that.

"What do we do with the dragon?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond let the man go, and the grubby traveler nearly fell backwards as he stepped away from Elrond.

"Let him die! Let the goblins shear off his fine scaled hide and feast on his fell flesh!" the man hissed.

"_Ada…_" Estel said, turning his face weakly away from James. "Don't let dragon die. He didn't let me die. He could have easily chased the goblins away and eaten me himself. I owe him my life. I don't understand it, _Ada, _but there is something about dragon that is trustworthy and entirely tame. Like a sheep in wolf's clothing…" he said.

Elrond knew that whatever was going to happen needed to happen quickly. Estel's pallor was shifting from pale to chalky. He needed to be tended to. The dragon was bleeding heavily too. The other wounds, while superficial on their own, had let enough blood that the deep black of the dragon's scales seemed dull and grayish. He turned to the man again.

"What does the dragon owe you in recompense?" he asked. The man stared at him blankly. "What did he steal?"

"Oh! He has stolen several cloaks, pots, a knife or two along the way, and many of our chickens," the man said. Elrond bristled at the paltry list.

"You shot a boy in the back because of some missing _chickens_?" he asked through clenched teeth. He looked up at the sky and muttered something in Elvish. Glorfindel gave a huff of shocked laughter. Rusty knives _indeed_...and it would certainly hurt to put them _there_. Elrond turned to his companion.

"We can make it back to Imladris by nightfall if we carry the beast behind one of the horses on a litter," he said.

"A dragon in Imladris?" Glorfindel asked softly.

"I think we would have to pry Estel's cold hands from the corpse of the beast before we could get him back home. The beast has shown compassion in caring for an injured boy. We will show compassion in return," he answered.

James' large ears twitched. The boy was stroking his neck now, assuring him that he would be all right. The lad was annoyingly loyal. The world was going black now, and he was actually fearful. At any time those fruity morons could change their mind about claiming him. A quick slice with the blade of the blond one and James would be parted with his head.

The last thing that went through his head before he passed out was an inopportunely timed joke about a hooker and a clown.

* * *

Even when he thinks he could die James is irreverent. But I wouldn't have him any other way. :) Now, I hope you all appreciate the work that went into this one! I know we didn't get anything with Draca or the others, but I have great plans for them and I am actually thinking of reintroducing them much later. For now comfort yourselves in the knowledge that they are not dead. _At the moment. _:)

Also, a note on them dragging James' scaly arse along behind a horse. Although James would be roughly the same size as a horse, he would not weigh the same. Horses are indeed very heavy. In order for him to be able to lift himself off of the ground in flight he would not weigh anything near what a horse weighs. Think about it: a normal sized horse would have to have a wingspan of several yards to lift itself. Even birds have hollow bones or even at their size they would be too heavy. So keep that in mind...

I hope I have given more depth to our Elven characters. I always hated their one dimension-ness. Which reminds me. I re-read chapter 4 and nearly pissed myself when I realized that Draca seems like a god-awful Mary Sue and Legolas like a waggly little puppy. Lawd Jayzus I nearly threw up. So there is a bit of an edit. Go back and read if you want. It does make the chapter flow smoother in that area, and gives a better credence to the interaction of Draca and Thranduil. It doesn't change any plot, though, so if you don't feel like reading it you don't have to. :3

Big plans, folks. Big plans. I hope you let me know how you think the story is progressing so far. Favorites and follows are appreciated, and reviews are coveted.


	7. A Force to be Reckoned

All attention to this story is appreciated. I love the responses, I hope you all enjoy the story. I hope to see lots of favorites and follows. Reviews are still appreciated!

I had someone ask an important question. Who is Estel? Estel is actually Aragorn's Elvish name. For those unfamiliar with some of the canon backstory, Aragorn was basically adopted by Elrond when he was two and raised as his son. When he turned twenty Elrond told him all about his past and stuff, and Aragorn set out to join the Rangers and take his place among them. Estel was who he was before that. So basically this is twelve year old Aragorn. He just isn't known by that name yet. Savvy, loves?

* * *

Chapter 7 – A Force to be Reckoned

Voices. Soft, musical voices sounded through the deep silence of unconsciousness. He was warm. Oh, so gloriously warm. It had been difficult to regulate the temperature of his body in the cave, due to being cold-blooded, and it had made his winters very unbearable. He moved sluggishly in the snow. He had seriously considered trying to bring himself into a magical hibernation, but in the end the winters had not been too deadly, and he had survived.

"…_disgraceful…"_

"…_dangerous. How could he bring…"_

"…_saved him. We owe…"_

"…_dragon!"_

He awoke with a start, raising his head and blinking blearily at the two people standing in front of him. The blond elf that had held him at sword point was standing there arguing with another. They had paused their argument and were both staring at him as though he'd started belching flames and farting fireworks.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Master Dragon," Glorfindel said kindly. Estel had been quite vocal about his approval of the black beast. He had everyone's ears ringing with praises for both the kindness and skill in which the dragon had cared for him. Even Lord Elrond had admitted being impressed with the skill shown by a creature that should be good at nothing but destruction.

James noticed he was in a sort of nest of cushions and blankets. The blankets were oh-so-soft and comfortable, and he couldn't help the feeling that came over him to roll in them. So he didn't resist. He rolled to his back and kicked off the blanket, writhing back and forth in the blankets with a contented groan.

"That's uncommon," the elf standing with Glorfindel said softly. Glorfindel merely smirked at the dragon's antics. The beast was good at disarming people with its actions. But he had seen the clarity and sentience in those golden eyes. One moment an eccentric reptile, the next a fire breathing warrior capable of taking out someone's guts with his hands.

James' contented roll ended with the clearing of a throat. All three sets of eyes turned to where Elrond stood in the doorway, staring hard at the black dragon. James immediately rolled to his feet, finally wincing a bit as he noticed the bandages draped across his narrow chest. His clawed hand reached up and rested on the linen bandage as his eyes were drawn back to Elrond.

"We brought you to Imladris to heal your wounds. You are a guest here under my protection and authority," Elrond said, studying the face of the black beast.

James opened his mouth to make some sort of noise, but his stomach beat him to it. It growled with the intensity of a thousand goblins, and Elrond fancied that for a moment the flesh in the dragon's cheeks darkened slightly.

"I believe the visitor is hungry," Glorfindel supplied. James' tail swished in a wide arc, and reminded the elven soldier of an angry cat. Elrond was still studying the creature.

"Indeed," he said softly, having passed no judgement.

* * *

He sat next to the Lord of Imladris in what had to be the most god-awfully awkward meal of his life. Despite the fact that Elrond had announced him, clearly stating him to be trustworthy and of good moral fiber, the elves present in the Dinner Hall stared at him. And not the covert stares of people who had half-founded beliefs about someone and were watching from the corner of their eyes to see if they would cause harm amongst them. These were the obvious 'you are a gross stinky fire-breathing lizard and we believe you will steal our virgins and our gold at any moment' stares. They were annoying.

A chair had been removed from beside Elrond and he sat on his haunches at the table, his head and chest well above the level of the table. A fragrant bowl of meaty stew sat before him, and he was very conflicted about the manner of which to eat it. He could just shove his snout into the bowl and eat like a, well, dragon, but he was sure that this would only cement people's bad opinion about him. He eyed the silver spoon next to his bowl. He had not tried eating with a utensil since being in this new world. It simply hadn't been a problem while he was in the wild.

He reached out and closed his claw around the spoon, adjusting it in his grip before dipping it into the bowl. Now, he knew this was going to be a little tricky. Spoons worked because you could close your mouth around them and basically scrape them clean with your lips, or even sip from the spoon with gently pursed lips. James' lips in his dragon form didn't work like the fleshy lips of his human form. And his sharp teeth would be no help in scraping the spoon. They were too wide spaced at the tip for that. So his best bet was to basically turn the spoon slightly in his mouth, dumping the contents onto his tongue. It worked fine for the stew, he would figure out anything else as it came.

He had been pleased that he was healed so quickly and with such skill. Apparently this elf-lord knew what he was doing when it came to healing. It did make him a bit more proud of when Estel had told him that he healed as well as Ada. The wound next to his wing had all but healed, and the one on his chest was covered with only a clean white patch of bandage held in place with sticky sap, like a medieval plaster bandage.

The lad in question had not made an appearance at dinner as of yet. And he could tell that he was expected, because Lord Elrond's eyes kept straying towards the entrance. There was suddenly a movement under the table next to him, and the boy in question popped up beside him. Elrond's eyes were drawn to the movement, and he actually did a double take when he saw Estel sitting on the other side of the black dragon, eating a bowl of stew like nothing had happened.

"Estel, where did you come from?" Elrond asked. Estel looked over, an innocently surprised look on his face that did not fool Elrond for even a millisecond.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Ada. I've been here the whole time…" he said brightly. Then he shoved another spoonful of food into his mouth and smiled before turning back to his bowl. James snickered into his stew, earning a disapproving glance from Elrond. Ah, the fruity little elves could be entertaining when they wanted to.

This dinner was boring. People were starting to eat their food and not stare quite so much at him, but there were others that just…kept…staring. He grunted with annoyance and decided to start messing with Estel. His long tail stretched upwards and tapped the lad on the opposite shoulder, quickly retracting as the boy turned his head away from James to see what had touched him. He looked suspiciously at James, chewing a bit of bread, but James merely met the gaze with an innocent golden look.

Estel reached up and tweaked one of his ears. _Why, the brazen little flat-tooth! _ James' hand shot out and tickled at Estel's side. The boy gave a shocked laugh, slapping his hand to his mouth as the annoyed glare of his Ada found both of them. They sat up straight and concentrated on the food again, pretending as though nothing had happened. A few more people looked slightly comforted at the antics, turning back to their food as a sort of normalcy descended on them. Estel had that effect on people.

James' tail tapped Estel's shoulder again, and when the boy turned, James snatched the boy's goblet, bringing it under the table and out of his sight. Estel turned back, looking confused, before reaching out to take a drink. James was eating innocently, struggling with the spoon only slightly now.

Estel frowned. He reached out and grabbed a piece of the sliced bread that had been served with the stew. He poked a hole in it with his finger, before plopping it down over one of the dragon's large, upright ears.

"Now you're just an in-bread dragon," he said cleverly, dusting off his hands.

Silence descended over the hall. Deafening, absolute silence, and Estel suddenly thought that maybe baiting the dragon in public may not have been the brightest idea. The dragon placed his goblet back on the table, reaching up a claw to touch the bread dangling from his ear. He didn't know it, but Glorfindel was tightening his hold on his butter knife and his own Ada was contemplating the fighting properties of a soup spoon.

James was speechless. The boy had made a _pun. _And it was actually _funny. _A sharp laugh escaped him suddenly. It was a barking laugh that made a few people jump. Then he laughed again. He threw his head back and laughed heartily, his whole frame shaking with mirth. He reached up a clawed hand and ruffled Estel's dark hair. Estel gave him a lopsided grin.

The tension melted out of the room. James had been tentatively accepted.

* * *

Time passed like a dream in the valley of Imladris. It was like a lazy river; flowing ever slowly, though continuing to trudge ever onwards. The days were sometimes exciting and sometimes boring. He watched Estel train with weapons from different masters. The lad was good with a sword. And in fact may have been able to defend himself better against the goblins if he had been in the possession of a true blade. And some more common sense, but that was a moot point.

The people of Imladris were not _relaxed_ around James, but they didn't seem to have the same kind of tense nervousness anymore. James had found out a bit more about the history of dragons in this world, and had to grudgingly admit that he would probably be nervous around himself if he had known these stories. The fact that he was black as night reminded those smart enough of Ancalagon the Black. But there were also those who liked to get in little smart comments. They made comments on his size. They spoke in voices _just loud enough to hear _about how incredibly _scrawny _he was in comparison to Ancalagon, whose wingspan could block the light of the sun even from afar. They spoke of how even Smaug was able to take the mountain of Erebor under his own strength. The new dragon, they said, would be lucky to be able to take a mole-hill from a Hobbit, much less a kingdom from a Dwarf.

James just bided his time, and each of them in time found themselves the victims of various pranks and tricks. Nothing was ever harmful, or permanent, but they were clearly targeted. They tried to bring up the grievance with Lord Elrond, but he could never pin anything to the black-scaled dragon, which infuriated those on the receiving end of his pranks.

This made him a prime interest for Elladan and Elrohir, twin sons of Elrond and identical menaces to the population of Imladris. After a short prank war that gave Elladan and Elrohir white hair and made the softer scales of James' underbelly turn a fetching shade of pink, the three decided to join forces. Elrond would spend the next several years combatting a force that in some ways was more horrifying than Sauron and more devastating than Morgoth.

* * *

She cursed aloud as she ran cool water from the spring over the burn on her hand. This was the fourth time within as many months that she had _blown up_ a wand. She simply could not find a decent core for her wand. Not even a few snuck hairs from her unicorn form had been able to hold up. She could usually get a spell off, before the wand would overheat and destroy the core, or more commonly nowadays, just blow the right fuck up. There was very little she could do without a wand. She could cast light from her hand, spark a fire, and cause a wind to stir.

She had been in Mirkwood for two years now. The place was beautiful in a dark, brooding sort of way. It almost reminded her of Malfoy Manor. There was art in the darkness here. The trees seemed alive, although she had tried to dismiss it when she thought she heard them whispering. Legolas had merely laughed at her vehement denial and gone on to have an entire _conversation _with an oak tree.

"Still having trouble?"

Legolas was as silent as a shadow and could damn near scare the pants off an orc. She jumped slightly before withdrawing her hand from the water. She slathered some healing ointment onto the red patch and deftly wrapped a strip of bandage around her palm. Then she turned to the elf that had basically adopted her as an unofficial sister.

"Yes, I am still having trouble. The centers of the wands are incompatible. It isn't unheard of, of course, but it is extremely inconvenient. I've gone through all of the natural cores I can think of without dragon heartstring, and I was never compatible with that core to begin with. It's a pity this world doesn't have phoenixes," she said.

"I'm sure they are beautiful. Perhaps we can obtain some spider's hair? Does that have enough magical properties?" Legolas asked, absent-mindedly lifting her hand and examining the bandage work.

"I don't know. I'm not sure if anyone has ever used acromantula hair in a wand, but I know the hair is good in some potions. The description of the spiders here sounds about the same," she said, pulling back her hand and waving him away. She replaced the burn paste in the satchel she carried at her waist. She'd started carrying it around when she did wand experiments.

"Well, let us be the first to find out if spider hair can be turned into a wand!" Legolas said, holding up a fist as though in triumph. Draca laughed softly.

"The King won't be happy you want to seek out spiders…" Draca said, giving him a hard look. King Thranduil was not an easy elf to be around. He was not unkind, but be had a fierce temper if the mood hit him, and was very, _very _protective of his only son. He had accepted her presence as a companion, and even seemed vaguely disappointed (in that fatherly sort of way) that Legolas had no romantic interest in her, but still held a cold aloofness around her that made her feel…unwanted.

She missed her family. She missed her father and brother, and most especially her grandfather. Her mother had died bringing her into the world, and for that reason she had never had the best relationship with her father. Now, he was not unkind to her, but like the King he was aloof at best. But she had always had a great relationship with her grandfather. Lucius had seen her as his chance for redemption and the two had been very good for each other. She knew that he saw her more as a daughter than a granddaughter.

"I have something for you," Legolas said suddenly, drawing her from her reverie. She looked at him, noticing that he looked entirely too smug for her liking. "I had this made for you after that..er…_incident _with the…vicious dog…" he said, looking to the world as if he were trying not to laugh.

The incident he referred to was an overly friendly wild dog that had decided that Draca was to be its new friend, and had basically chased her up a tree in its excitement. The dog, being extremely small for a wild specimen, had been adopted by one of the guards that had come running at the sound of her cries. It had been the topic of amusement for weeks.

She narrowed her eyes at him as he reached into his tunic and retrieved a small sheathed dagger. He presented it to her, and her narrow look changed into one of surprise.

"For me? I thought it was frowned upon to arm women…" she said, reaching forward and picking up the knife. She didn't like the rules of this world sometimes. They were restricting and chaffing to women.

He watched as she unsheathed the short dagger. "It is generally not done, but we elves are a bit more liberal in our treatment of the women folk. Besides that, you are a wizard without much of your magic, so I figured you should be armed somehow. And so if we meet any dogs in the forest-," he yelped when she stomped on his foot, but smothered a grin.

Draca had been right about one thing: Thranduil was not pleased that Legolas wanted to_ seek out spiders_.

"Have you taken leave of your senses, boy? Surely all of the time you spend in the treetops has caused the wind to blow your brain out from between your ears and fill your head with air, instead!" Thranduil snapped. Draca was impressed by the insult, but Legolas seemed unaffected.

"Ada, I would not go alone. Besides, we do not need to actually find the nest. We just need to skirt about their territory a bit and gather a few hairs. Our resident wizard still has had no luck reconstructing her magic stick," Legolas said in return. Thranduil's dark eyes flickered to Draca, and she stared back as innocently as possible.

"I have blown through so many wands, my King. I am very desperate for a compatible core. My magic feels like it's ready to explode if there is no way to direct it…" Draca said. And it was not unheard of. Magical backup could be unpredictable at best, and destructive at worst. There had been stories of people who had been without their wands for a long time having accidents as powerful as the ones that children had. One unfortunate soul had even blown up his kitchen.

The King pursed his lips, his gaze turning back to his son.

"This is not a good idea. I would order you to your room on lock-down if I thought you would actually stay," he said coolly, and Legolas merely beamed brightly at his father. "You _will_ take some of the palace guards with you. You _will not _leave the borders of Mirkwood. You _will _make sure you are well armed. You _will not bring anything back with you,_" Thranduil added, pinning his son with a knowing look at the end.

"Ada, it was only that once…." Legolas said, his glowing smile fading slightly.

"The spider, the deer, the fox, the sparrow, the other deer, the woodpecker, the dog, the squirrel, the _other _squirrel," Thranduil began, and Draca saw Legolas' face turn pink.

"All right, Ada, all right. I won't bring any animals back…" he grumbled. Thranduil sighed.

"Somehow I doubt it."

* * *

Draca sat on the horse that trotted next to Legolas', who was humming to himself as they traveled through the forest. They were surrounded by six guards, and it did make Draca wonder just _how big _the Mirkwood spiders were. She had heard from James' uncle Ron that the biggest Acromantula they had seen was Aragog, and he had been very, _very _large.

Legolas had told her that the spiders tended to stay far away from the palace, because the guards and warriors there made it difficult to get in a good meal. They preferred to pick off lone travelers as opposed to taking on armed escorts. This did not make Draca feel good at all. She had been told that they would be away for a few days, at least, and she had been taught how to pack lightly for a trip into the forest.

"Does anything make you upset?" Draca asked suddenly, turning to Legolas. He seemed surprised by the question.

"Well of course it does! But it is my opinion that being upset takes far too much energy. There is a time and place for sadness, anger, and all of those emotions. But as long as there are stars, and trees, and the sun, then why should we be sad?" he asked. Draca nodded slightly as she looked up suddenly. The sky was visible through the branches of the trees, turning the deep purple and orange of evening. They stopped for camp as soon as they came across a spot suitable.

Draca stretched out when she got off of her horse. She was familiar with riding, but it had been awhile and the ride had made her sore. Legolas sat in front of the fire with three of the guards, discussing some bit of warfare and manly things amongst themselves. She watched as the other three guards disappeared around the border of their little camp, making it quite impossible to sneak up on them.

"So what other nasties are in this forest?" she asked suddenly, and the guards ceased talking to the prince and looked over at her as she sat down with them. Many of the people of Mirkwood tolerated her at best. The half-elf was not like any Lady that they had met. While she was not overtly rude or inappropriate, she lacked the grace of a fully Elven Lady.

"Ah, there's orcs, of course. And wargs. We can't forget the wargs. Bloody huge wolves, they are, with a taste for flesh and a bloodlust that is legendary," one of the guards supplied 'helpfully,' rather liking the pale tinge the girl's face took on. Legolas frowned at the young guard.

"Aye, there are beasts in the forest, but we are well protected, _tithen gwathel,_" He said, making it clear that she was under his protection. "Rest now, friend, and we will continue on our way when the morning sun kisses us awake," he finished, watching as Draca's own grey eyes narrowed a bit. **(Little sister)**

"That sounds fruity…"

* * *

She wasn't sure what woke her up, but she suddenly sat up on her bedroll with a soft gasp, glancing around wildly. The three guards that were off duty were asleep around the fire, and even Legolas was asleep, his blank eyes twinkling in the light of the fire. She looked around to where she had seen the other guards disappear for their watch and was comforted when she saw a small glimmer of metal in a tree branch.

She heard the clicking first. Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest at the unfamiliar sound, and she saw the three guards drop from the trees, quickly advancing on their comrades.

"Awake! Awake! The spiders have found us, instead!" one of them cried. The other elves were snapped from their slumber, rolling to their feet and taking up their weapons with fluid movements. Even Legolas was on his feet within the time it took to take a breath. Draca scrambled to her feet clumsily, clutching the knife that Legolas had given her.

She saw a shadow move in the trees and whimpered softly. Legolas stepped close to her, carefully drawing her to where she was deeper in the circle of Elves.

"Fear not. A few spiders early on may mean we do not have to be gone long at all," he said, trying to give her a bit of positivity to focus on. He didn't miss the way she was trembling.

_"Shining, shining, in the night_

_Little elflings burn so bright_

_Stumble, stumble through the wood_

_Little elflings taste so good!_

_Longbow, longbow, twanging sharp_

_Shooting spiders in the dark_

_Sleepy, Sleepy, close your eyes_

_Nevermore to see the skies!_

_Magic, magic, tasty sweet!_

_Lady will be good to eat_

_Fighting, fighting in the glade_

_Little elfling's light will fade!_

_Hanging, hanging upside down_

_Mirkwood spiders make no sound_

_Spider, spider leaves no clue_

_This will be the end of you!"_

"Jesus merciful Christ…are those spiders _singing?_" Draca asked. Legolas didn't answer her, instead drawing an arrow and aiming into the forest. His eyes were tracking something Draca couldn't see, and without warning he let the arrow fly. There was a thud and an unearthly shriek, and then an unnatural, deadly silence.

Then the spiders attacked. They swarmed the clearing, and the elves defended with roars of battle. Draca was useless with fear as she watched. The spiders could easily make a meal of any of them. Large and hairy with giant black pincers and many glittering eyes. They looked just like acromantulas, but as she'd never seen one of those up close she had no real life comparison. She just knew that these foul things were fast, venomous and hungry, and all in all that made for a bad mix.

It wasn't that she was a coward. In fact, she was a decent dueler. But she was used to dealing with an opponent that had two legs, not eight. And she was used to using spells, not fighting hand to pincer. It was hard to see how many spiders there were. There could be only the four she could see, or there could be another dozen waiting in the shadows.

There was a scream as one of the guards parried when he should have dodged, and caught a pair of venomous fangs in his thigh. The sword from another elf buried itself into the spider's head, killing it swiftly. Draca was suddenly knocked off of her feet as a spider leg came between her and Legolas. He had abandoned his bow in the close combat and was swinging a sword fiercely. He was a blur of silver and glowing white.

A spider appeared over her, the black fangs clicking menacingly. Draca brought the knife up instinctively, catching it in the belly and splitting it up the center. It was a lucky shot and Draca knew it well as she flipped to her stomach and tried to shimmy out from under the spider. It collapsed heavily on top of her and she cried out when the fangs dug into her bottom.

She saw Legolas fighting two spiders by himself. More had appeared from the darkness and had separated him from the rest of the guards. He was good, but two spiders at once was not an easy task. She tried to wiggle out from under the dead spider on top of her, reaching out to grasp at anything. Her hands closed over a stout limb and she tried to use it to drag herself out. She only shifted herself a little before she heard a cry.

One of the spiders had gotten in a lucky hit on Legolas. He had a slash across his forearm and it was making the hold on his sword a bit precarious. He shook out his injured arm and the spiders struck as one. One of them struck his good arm, knocking the sword loose, and the other grabbed at his leg with a prickly leg.

The guards had no way to get to him. She grabbed several strands of her hair and tugged violently, ripping them loose. She pulled the tip of the limb towards her and tied the loose hairs around the tip, hoping to every god she knew that this little trick worked. Then she hefted the tip of the limb towards the spiders, aiming carefully.

"_Arania Exumai_!" she cried. She felt the limb heat up under her hands. The heat built quickly. Starting from her hands a blue light glowed brightly, before travelling to the end of the branch like an arc of electricity and firing off like a bullet. The bright light split into two bolts, striking the spiders that had cornered Legolas and tossing them aside like they were gnats. The force of the spell also fried them instantly, rolling them to their backs as the legs curled up and smoked.

The other spiders froze at the powerful magic, and then either fled or were quickly dispatched by the guards. Legolas stood rather dumbly on the spot, staring over to where Draca was trapped underneath the dead body of her own foe.

The pain hit her like running into a brick wall. The limb crumbled to ashes in her grasp and she looked at her palms, noticing they were black and blistered. Tears came to her eyes from the dizzying agony, and she rested her face against the leaves. Hands were on her, pulling her out from under the spider and steadying her. Legolas pulled her to his chest, thanking her profusely.

"Prince Legolas, her hands!" One of the guards exclaimed. Legolas pulled back and grabbed her wrists gently, exclaiming at the sight of her blackened palms.

"Ai, Elbereth, _Istar_, you will be the death of me for sure!" he said. Tears leaked from Draca's eyes as she looked up to say something. **(Wizard)**

A long, lonely howl rent the air.

* * *

I'm not apologizing. :) Be sure to let me know if that was good/bad/ugly/pickles. ?_?


	8. Unexpected

Well, well, well. Another chapter has come at last. I was so close to waiting until tomorrow night to post this, but I decided to be nice and do it tonight. I am pleased with the reaction this story is getting. Fair warning: I have decided that this story is going to a sort of prequel. I'm getting ready to do a _major _time skip here, and I will end this story and start another one as the plot picks back up. It just seems better to me. If you have any opinions let me know! :)

* * *

Chapter 8 – Unexpected

A long, lonely howl rent the air.

The elven warriors that were still on their feet were back into fighting form immediately. Legolas had a fierce look on his face, but it belied an undercurrent of confusion.

"That does not sound like any wolf I've ever heard. The howl was too high even for a cub," he said softly. Draca, however, was barely cohesive with pain and an unnatural giddiness.

"That's because it's not a wolf! It's a coyote!" she exclaimed. Then she threw back her head and howled in response. Legolas, well aware that they could not face another attack and retain enough time to save any of the poisoned warriors, shook her angrily.

"Have you lost all senses, woman? We cannot fend off another attack!" he exclaimed. She looked at him, her face twisted in pain and anger.

"I know that howl. I've heard that howl for years, my _prince_, and I have known the face behind that howl for many more. It isn't a wolf. Nor is it a warg. That is one of my friends," she said vehemently. She didn't wait for his approval before howling again.

There was an answering howl, and several yipping barks. She turned to the side as a bush rustled, before a furry creature burst from the foliage. It was the size of a dog, but the proportions were wrong for a domestic dog. The legs were long and spindly with wide paws, and the head was long and tipped with large, tufted ears. Its fur was black and fluffy, with a large bottlebrush tail. The eyes were of a crystalline blue, almost glowing in the light of the fire that had miraculously survived the spider attack.

"Orion Regulus Black, you great mangy mongrel!" Draca scolded. The 'dog' seemed taken aback, before whimpering slightly and looking around at all of the people in the clearing. They were watching with mixed looks of apprehension, curiosity, and anger. "Where in Merlin's name have you been? Two years I've been here, without a wand and you've been doing God knows what!" she said, almost hysterically.

Then, the dog did a most amazing thing. It changed into a man. He was wearing tattered robes, his face smeared with dirt and nearly gaunt. His hair was tangled and pushed away from his face, bound with twine. He had a thin beard on his face that made him appear much older than he was and gave him a wild look.

"You pampered, angry shrew!" the man hissed, his voice hoarse from disuse. "I have been dodging gods-damned spiders and trying not to get eaten by bloody great _wolves_ for two years! You appear to have been well-fed and taken care of, so you shut your ungodly, venomous mouth before I hex it off!" he bellowed.

The elves were speechless. This...this..._shape shifter_ had a sharp tongue and a hot temper. He knew the lady-wizard, clearly, but that didn't mean he wasn't a danger.

With a sob Draca broke from Legolas' hold and ran towards Orion. Shining tears cut tracks in the dirt on his face as he met her halfway, and the two friends embraced as though their lives depended on it. Orion held onto her tightly, but he noticed that she did not touch him with her hands.

"You're an angry wank-biscuit," she choked.

"And you're a petty wench," he replied in a trembling voice.

Legolas finally found his voice.

"What in Eru's most venerable name is _going on_? I _demand_ an explanation for this!" he snapped, putting on his best 'Prince of Mirkwood' voice.

"This is my friend Orion," Draca said, pulling away from the young man. "He's a wizard, too," she added matter-of-factly. Orion gasped.

"God! Just tell everyone in the world, then! Hang the statue of secrecy! I'll just whip out my wand and start changing everyone into newts, then, shall I?" he asked. The elves moved hands to their weapons. No one was making them a newt without a fight.

"The statute doesn't apply here, 'Ri. These are elves," she said. He looked up at them, his intense blue eyes hopping from face to face.

"That...uh...that would explain the glowing and the pointy ears, then."

The injured were taken care of first. The guard who had been bitten full on by one of the spiders was in a paralyzed sleep, but the herbs they had applied to the wound would draw the venom out by the time they reached the palace, and he would recover. Legolas' arm was bandaged neatly, and Draca's hands had been meticulously cleaned and bandaged. Orion had scoffed when she told him their reason for traveling into the forest.

"Wand lore is mysterious and fickle. I can appreciate the desperation behind the actions, but I honestly do not think that spider hair is going to channel your magic well," Orion said gently. He had his own wand out, listening intently for any unwelcome visitors toward their party. He was sitting on the horse abandoned by the injured guard, who has being ridden with another one so that he didn't fall off.

"Then our trip was worthless," Legolas said, his voice a bit dark as he fiddled with the little bundle of spider hair they had collected.

"Not worthless, mates! You've found yourself another wizard!"

* * *

Thranduil was not pleased. He stared at his son, then at the lady-wizard, and then at the newest wizard standing in his court. The boy almost had a look of the Dunedan about him with that wavy black hair, but his eyes were of a startling blue he'd rarely seen in a human face. He had a much more jovial attitude about him than the lady-wizard, joking and laughing as he was.

The lad cleaned up like a noble. He wore robes with a flair that impressed the image-conscious Thranduil. The boy acted more like prince than his own son. If he were honest with himself then he would admit that Draca bore herself like a noble, too, but he really didn't like that his son had taken her on as a charity case and so he really didn't like to give her much credit, even if it were due.

"I thought I was clear," Thranduil practically purred. Legolas swallowed nervously, but piped up with his ever-cheerful voice.

"I was not to bring any _animals _home, Ada. I wasn't aware wizards were banned," he chirped.

"Majesty of the Wood, great Thranduil, venerable and good King of this realm," Orion said, bowing low at the waist. "I am but a humble wizard seeking refuge in a world that is not my own. I am lost as my friend was. I do not expect any charity. I am a great duelist. Any help I may give in protecting the wood I would gladly offer it in return for the resources to seek our other friends. We were a group of four, and I feared I was the only one left. Seeing Draca has renewed my hope that I may yet reunite with all of my friends," he spoke softly but with a command not seen in commoners.

"And if I have no resources to spare for a wizardling?" Thranduil asked, leaning forward intently to see how the young man would answer. Orion's head lifted slightly, and his sparkling blue eyes fairly glowed with innate power.

"Then I have no magic to spare for an Elf-king," Orion said simply. Legolas sucked in a breath. _No one _talked to his father like that. The boy was going to get himself executed. They'd scrape his innards off of the dungeon walls for _weeks. _He'd-

Thranduil laughed aloud.

"I _like _you, Wizardling. I like your spirit. You are completely disrespectful and if you ever speak to me like that again I will have you publically lashed, but for a time it amuses me. I welcomed the Lady Wizard into the palace because my son adopted her as his own little pet. I will accept you under your own power, as a guest of my court. I'm not sure how you propose to find your friends, but we will discuss it later. My son is come home, though his parting was not long, and tonight you will all be my dinner guests as we celebrate his return!" Thranduil exclaimed.

A messenger appeared before the king, bowing low and waiting to be recognized. When the King motioned him to stand again, the messenger straightened and spoke loudly before Thranduil.

"Scouts have spotted a traveler coming towards the caves. Mithrandir approaches, and will arrive within hours," he said, and made his exit. Thranduil looked at the two young Wizards contemplatively.

"It seems your timing is most fortuitous, young Wizard. We shall get the council of Gandalf the Grey about your coming and your purpose, for he is a great ally and a powerful wizard himself," Thranduil grinned. Mithrandir's wisdom would be most welcome in dealing with these baby wizards. He was incredibly curious as to why they were here. Did Eru feel that the current wizards were not strong enough? Was there a new evil awakening that needed several of these creatures?

Only time would tell.

* * *

He walked through the hallway with a purpose, gripping the walking stick in his hand with more force than necessary. He walked with an easy grace, like that of a lion, and those in his way moved quickly in the presence of such an intimidating figure. He was dressed in fine robes of green, embroidered with silver at the neck, sleeves and hem. Underneath he wore a fine shirt of white silk, covered with a vest of dark gray and charcoal colored slacks. His feet were encased in black leather, the heels thumping ever-so-slightly on the marble floor. His hair was unbound, falling in silken silver sheets over his shoulder, framing the narrow aristocratic features that were lined lightly with age. He was a wizard, after all, and just reaching middle age.

Lucius Malfoy was not a man to be trifled with. He was a formidable wizard with a formidable temper and a formidable ferocity in the face of matters of his family.

"Mr. Malfoy, I can't allow you any further," a voice sounded.

An Auror stood in his way, a rather haughty expression on the younger wizard's face. This…man…had been in Draco's year at Hogwarts. What was his name? Zebadiah? Schmidt?

"Ah, Auror Schmidt-,"

"Smith. Zacharias Smith," the man intoned, as if it meant something.

"A terrible mistake on my part let me assure you. If you would be so kind as to fetch your Captain, I would be much obliged," Lucius replied, his voice deep, crisp an even. Like snow.

"Captain Potter is busy, Mr. Malfoy, and cannot attend to visitors. Even visitors as…illustrious as yourself," the Auror replied, sounding positively gleeful to be putting the other wizard in his place.

"Surely he can make a few minutes for the fellow Lord of an Ancient family?" Lucius could not pass up throwing the title about. Harry Potter had taken up the mantle of Lord Potter upon his majority, and Lucius saw him often when the Lords of the families drew together for various functions and parties.

"Even the Lords of Ancient families must abide by the law, Mr. Malfoy. Captain Potter is not one that can be led along by his purse strings…" Smith positively beamed with arrogant delight.

"It would be dishonorable to assume anything of the sort," Lucius purred, inclining his head at Auror Smith. The little badger wanted to play with a serpent, then? Bring. It. On.

"You would know all about dishonor, wouldn't you, Death Eater?" Smith lost all semblance of politeness, glaring at the other wizard with venom in his gaze. Lucius practically sparked with angry magic, making the Auror's hair stand on end.

"What is going on here?"

Both of them turned to look at Captain Potter, standing in the doorway of his office like a king stands at the threshold of his castle.

"I was just informing Mr. Malfoy that he should make an appointment if he needs to speak with you, Captain Potter," Smith simpered. Harry had to physically resist the urge to vomit. Now that he had a more certain grasp of power in this world, Zacharias Smith did everything short of physically dropping to his knees and inserting his nose into Harry's arse to please him. Harry did not find that a very pleasing prospect. At all.

"Mr. Malfoy was expected," Harry said, his voice soft but firm. Malfoy's grey eyes and Smith's brown ones were wide with surprise.

"I/He was?" they spoke in tandem, before Malfoy cleared his throat.

"I was trying to tell you, Auror Smith…" he rumbled amicably. Harry merely smirked.

"Come, Mr. Malfoy. I have everything ready," Harry said, turning and entering his office. Lucius merely gave Smith a smug cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, and followed the dark-haired Captain into the office. The door shut after him, presumably by magic.

Harry was sitting at his desk, writing on a piece of parchment with a handsome eagle quill pen.

"What can I help you with, Lucius?" Harry asked, not looking up. Lucius bristled a bit at the familiarity that Potter displayed.

"I merely came to ask if there had been any leads on the whereabouts of my granddaughter," he said, gripping the head of his walking stick until his knuckles turned white. Harry stopped writing, placing the pen on his desk and looking up.

"Nay. No word. I have my best Unspeakables poring over the scene for clues, but it is extremely difficult to figure out what James was working on. He rarely takes notes…" Harry trailed off, his brilliant green eyes falling on a picture on his desk. Lucius noticed it was a Muggle photo, unmoving, but it captured a bright-eyed dragon-child laughing brightly, his sharp teeth gleaming in the light.

"Nothing? Surely there is some kind of clue to their whereabouts…they can't have just disappeared," Lucius said, his voice taking on a bit of desperation.

"They are analyzing the mithril shards as thoroughly as they can-,"

"Not thoroughly enough! Are you sure they know what they are doing? Perhaps-,"

"Enough!" Harry barked. Lucius looked surprised. Harry Potter had grown into a fierce wizard indeed. Nothing like the meek, bumbling Muggle-raised child he had been when he entered Hogwarts so many years ago. "Enough," Harry all but whispered. "I have lost something in this, too…" A shuddering breath from Malfoy almost startled Harry.

"She is my life,"

The confession startled Harry. He looked up at Malfoy's face, quite amazed to see those powerful grey eyes shining suspiciously.

"She is everything to me. Like my own daughter…" his voice creaked slightly and he paused. Draco had taken the loss of his wife very hard. He practically ignored the girl. And when Narcissa had left him he had found himself quite alone. Draca had forcefully attached herself to his heart, and he would not let her go without a fight.

"I have every person I can think of on this. I literally could not find a better team," Harry said reassuringly.

"Nearly three months is not reassuring," Lucius said. Harry opened one of the drawers of his desk and removed a photo. He held it out towards Lucius. Lucius reached out a gloved hand and took the photo, looking at it with interest.

It was the ungodly, motley crew that Draca had allied herself with. He could see her fair head peaking between James' unruly mop and Greyback's silver-haired spawn.

"There are four people missing. James, Orion, Phelan and Draca. Draca is with James, and he has always been particularly protective of her. As have the others, who see her as their sister. They are all as thick as thieves, and would easily lay down their lives for any of their friends," Harry said. Lucius sighed, closing his eyes in despair.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

James sat at the top of the hill, watching as Estel sparred with the twins. They were giving him pointers, telling him to move his feet, and generally enjoying beating the crap out of him for an extended time that was smiled upon by their father. James just enjoyed the show. He loped down the hill, his tail swishing behind him, and approached where the brothers were practicing.

"Dragon! Did you come to watch Estel get acquainted with the ground?" Elrohir asked, blocking a swipe from Estel. James held up a paw to pause them and then held out his hand to Estel, who was huffing with exhaustion. Estel looked surprised.

"You want my sword?" he asked. James nodded. Estel pointed the tip downward, holding the double-handed hilt towards James. His broad claw closed around it and he raised it experimentally. It was a true sword as opposed to a practice one, sharp on both sides and gleaming dangerously in the sunlight. It was still a bit short compared to most blades, but the width and weight made it good for a powerful stroke. James' superior strength and broader grip made it possible for him to hold the sword with one hand.

James had been taught sword-handling from a young age. His father had thought it was a great skill to have, as one never knew when they would be called upon to wield a blade. James had heard the story of the Chamber of Secrets, and had to agree that if sword-handling had been taught at Hogwarts, his father may have been slightly less unprepared to suddenly be the owner of the Sword of Gryffindor.

James turned a gaze to the twins, both of whom still held their blades. He tilted his head with a look that clearly said 'Shall we?'

"You wish to spar, _Naurlam_?" Elladan asked, a curious and gleeful expression coming to his face. James nodded, his forked tongue flitting forward to taste the air. "Very well," And Elladan struck hard, the blade clashing against James' with a clang. James pushed back, nearly taking Elladan off of his feet. "Oh, the Valar have gifted us with a worthy opponent. Let us truly spar!" **(Fire Tongue)**

The three began a deadly dance. Elladan and Elrohir worked in tandem against James, but he had extreme senses and reaction time as well. The only disadvantage he had was that with a sword in his hand, his balance was on three legs instead of four. The twins tried to take advantage of that, both attacking his left side. He parried both of the blades with an inhuman twist. His golden eyes whirled as he kept his sight on both of them at once, and the slitted pupil was narrow with excitement.

Elladan thrust his sword forward, catching James' blade near the tip, and Elrohir pressed the advantage, striking near the base of James' blade while his balance on the sword was shifted. The blade flew out of his grasp, whirling through the air in an arc. James twisted his body, swinging out a long leg and catching Elladan in the hollow of his knee, sweeping his feet out from under him. Elrohir shot forward with a downward sweep, and James danced out from under his blade. His leg muscles bunched and he leapt into the air, catching his sword before it hit the ground.

They struck as one again, both blades coming downward. James held his blade horizontally and caught both of their swords. They pushed down, and James had to place his other paw on the flat of the blade. His back legs curled slightly and then he shoved forward, knocking the twins off balance and using a well-placed Expelliarmus to knock their blades from their hands. The swords arced upwards and he leapt into the air, plucking the blades from the air with the grace of experience.

He landed with a small thud, glancing back at the two elves. One of the twins opened his mouth, and they were interrupted by the hollow sound of someone clapping. They all turned to see Elrond and Glorfindel standing on the top of the hill James had vacated, and Glorfindel was clapping politely.

"Our dragon-friend is fast on his feet and gifted with a blade. 'Tis not every day that a sword-fighting dragon crosses Middle Earth," Glorfindel said, his sharp eyes boring into James. James grinned toothily, his white fangs gleaming in the bright sun. Glorfindel returned the predatory smile, and with a single look James knew that of all of the Elves, _this _one would be a dangerous foe indeed. James' ears stood upright and he gracefully bowed to the two elves on the hillside.

Elrond watched as his sons picked themselves up, dusting off their clothes and giving the dragon inquisitive glances.

"A curious guest indeed," Elrond intoned.

James somehow resisted the urge to belch fireworks just to piss them both off.

* * *

Ta da!

And no, I did not make a mistake with the timeline in the scene with Lucius and Harry. Bear with me. It will be important, I promise.

Now, does anyone have any questions, comments, stories about pickles they'd like to share? (Looking at _you_, Gavoon.) If not I will kindly post this story and go back to thinking of how I can make Orion piss off Gandalf in the next chapter. Or maybe it will all be just fine and dandy and everyone will love each other.

Pfft. That's boring. Gandalf is a BAMF wizard and he will have the BAMF presence he deserves. None of that Hobbit poor-old-man bullshit. This man is a frigging Maia sent by Eru Ilúvatar to help the world, not some random old guy who needs Galadriel kisses to make his day. :( Don't get me wrong, I loved me some Hobbit movie, but srsly…..Gandalf got treated like an old man who happened upon a magic staff. Ok….rant over.


	9. What Does the Future Hold?

Not a very long chapter. I am setting up another plot advancement. So I suppose it's another go-between chapter, but not too bad. There's some action-y goodness and some drama. Yay. I thank all of the ones who have reviewed this story so far. Your words are encouraging and uplifting, and make me want to update as quickly as possible so as to please the ones who respond to my words! :D

I didn't get any response about separating this beginning of the story from when I make my time-jump. I'm not messing when I say it's major. I believe I will just separate the story altogether. I don't like to make my stories drag, and I tend to write in arcs. We'll see. Anyway, continue on!

* * *

Chapter 9 – What Does the Future Hold?

Legolas sat on a tree branch, his feet swinging idly as he watched the figure approach through the leaves. He could see that the traveler was swathed all in grey, from the top of his pointed hat to the tips of his boots. It was the reason he was called Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim. He was a wizard of well renown, known from kingdom to kingdom by different names and by different deeds. To the Shire he was the purveyor of fine fireworks. To the Elves he was a counselor, an ageless friend and a comfort. To Gondor he always seemed a harbinger of doom and gloom.

He was whistling lightly as he walked, his walking stick making light sounds against the ground for those with ears sensitive enough to hear it. His boots also crunched the leaves on the vague pathway, and the cloth of his robes rustled lightly. He paused underneath the tree that Legolas sat in, looking this way and that. Legolas was grinning broadly, waiting for the wizard to make his move.

Gandalf looked up, having the feeling of being watched. The large branch just above him was empty. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight before he continued on, walking with a bit more care and attention. A movement to his right caught his attention, and he whirled about, discomfited to see naught but empty air.

Then he grinned. He raised his staff and a sudden gust of wind took the tree next to him, swaying the branches unexpectedly. With a muffled yelp a figure tumbled from the tree, landing on his back with his legs up in the air.

"It will be a cold day in Mordor before you sneak up on me, young Greenleaf!" Gandalf admonished fondly. Legolas rolled over fluidly and hopped to his feet.

"I almost had you, Mithrandir!" he argued.

"Not likely," the soft reply came. "Now what honor do I find myself holding that the Prince of the Wood meets me himself?"

"Does there need to be a special occurrence for me to welcome my favorite wizard?" Legolas asked.

"How many wizards do you know, then, that you may judge me your favorite?"

"Ai, Gandalf! You speak in mazes, _mellon nîn_! But I can honestly say that I know several wizards, now. 'Tis the reason I have come to meet you, so that I can explain a rather interesting incident to you," he said. Gandalf's eyes seemed to sharpen, and Legolas was reminded that this man may play a doddering old fool, but he could switch from that to seasoned magical warrior in the blink of an elven eye. **(My Friend)**

"It all started two years ago when I found a lady at the base of a tree!"

* * *

Gandalf eyed the dark-haired youth in front of him with a mixture of emotions on his face. The young wizard stared back, those impossibly blue eyes locked with his. A wizard, the boy claimed to be.

"You are a wizard?" Gandalf asked, twisting his staff idly in his hands as he regarded the boy.

"Aye, at least that's what my mum told my dad," Orion piped. Draca rolled her eyes.

"Stop being a smart arse," she said. Gandalf's dark eyes found her, and she had the sensation of being _read. _Not like Legilimancy, because she was a decent Occlumens and would have been able to hide her mind. She held his gaze firmly, unafraid of the wizard. Legolas had a great opinion of the grey-clad old man, and Draca could taste the magic in his vicinity, old and powerful. This may be a wizard in the present world, but back in her world he would be a Sorcerer. Powerful beyond comprehension and ancient as the world.

"You as well," Gandalf said suddenly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Draca sighed softly.

"Aye, I'm magical, too. But I can't access a vast majority of my magic right now. My wand was broken and I cannot channel through my hands, save a few tricks," she said, holding out her palm and letting a small bird flicker to life, made completely of glittering magic. Gandalf could feel the magic in the very whiskers on his face.

"What wonders the Valar have brought before us," he murmured to himself.

King Thranduil watched the whole thing, his own eyes glittering as the three wizards interacted. For those sensitive to that sort of thing, the magic in the room was heady and awe-inspiring. Gandalf was not the whiskered old fool that he liked to pretend he was. It was very disarming, truthfully, and Thranduil appreciated that it usually made it much easier for the Grey Pilgrim to pick off his enemies and hold his friends closely. Most people were wary of a man that could render them a pile of ashes with a swish of his staff, and so his attitude usually helped put those fears to rest.

"Has something changed, then, Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked. Gandalf looked up at the Elven King.

"I have heard no rumors of anything different in the world, but I do not pretend to be all-knowing. I believe if there were another threat then the Wizards would be warned, at least," he replied. "Perhaps it would be wise to visit Lórien, and see if the Lady has seen anything in her Mirror," Gandalf added, mostly to himself.

Thranduil attempted not to sneer. "You might well get a decent reading out of her, so long as she hasn't been drinking the Mirror water again…" he snipped. Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Now you know that only happened once. And she did apologize for burning off your eyebrows," Gandalf appeared to be trying not to chuckle. Orion and Draca watched the interaction between the two.

"As…amusing as this is to watch," Draca interrupted, catching the attention of the two men, "This doesn't help my situation. I still have no way to channel my magic. I keep blowing up wands," and she held up her hands for emphasis. Though her burns had been healed quickly, her hands were still a little sensitive and red. Gandalf huffed slightly at her.

"It seems obvious to me, young Wizardess. You are trying to put too much current through too small an outlet!" he said. Draca raised a flaxen eyebrow, and Gandalf was taken by how much like the Elven King standing to the side she looked. He wondered if the King or Prince realized that she could pass as a blood relation to the royal family of Mirkwood. Probably not…they all had heads harder than the outer wall of Barad Dûr. Pity, that.

"What do you mean?"

Gandalf sighed. "You appear to be trying to catch the equivalent of the Anduín in a drinking glass. You need a bigger vessel." He said simply, standing his staff upright.

"A staff? Well, our wizards haven't used staves in quite a good many years, but it isn't unheard of, I suppose. What is your staff made of?" she asked curiously. The staff in question was a nondescript brown wood, twisting and gnarled near the top, with a jewel affixed there.

"Chestnut wood fixed with a channel of Desert Rose," Gandalf said. Orion's dark eyebrows shot up and he gave a low whistle.

"Desert Rose is _extremely _powerful. At least it is in our world…" he said. Gandalf gave a fond smile to the staff that had served him for many years.

"That is true here, as well," He said.

"Desert Rose would not fit you, Draca. You are not suited for the Fire element. It's masculine. I believe, due to your Animagus form, that you would be Earth," Orion spoke, stroking his chin. He had shaved as soon as he had bathed, preferring to have a clean jaw. His father could work the mustache and a short beard, but it made him look like a hippie.

"What is an Animagus?" Thranduil asked.

"A wizard who can change into an animal," Orion spoke. Draca made a noise of protest, and slapped her hand against her forehead. Orion realized his mistake. "They…they didn't know, did they?"

"No."

Thranduil looked down at the Wizardess that had been in his home for two years.

"What have you hidden, _Taltistar?_" he asked, his voice going deadly soft. He hadn't called her that in a while, and indeed only called her that name when he was displeased. **(Falling Wizard.)**

"I can turn into an animal. A unicorn." She said, not meeting the eyes of the elf-king.

"What is a unicorn?" he asked. Orion piped up here.

"Think horse, with a horn on its forehead," he said, his hand pointing to his own face and extending outward like a unicorn's horn.

Draca felt all eyes on her. "I never told anyone because it wasn't necessary," she said, answering the question before it was even asked. "It isn't a harmful ability, nor is it Dark. It is what it is. I can change into a unicorn. It would help nor hinder no one," she finished firmly. "I can't hold a sword in that form, or swing a knife. The horn is sharp but difficult to wield against more than one foe."

"'Tis a moot point now." Thranduil murmured. But he would see this 'unicorn' soon. He needed to know what allies or threats he could wield against the darkness in his kingdom.

There was silence amongst their small council. Three wizards and an elf-king were lost in their own thoughts.

"Will you help me forge a staff?" Draca asked suddenly, glancing at Gandalf with hope etched in her face. He studied her face for a few moments, and seemed to confer within himself.

"Very well."

* * *

The water glittered in the stone basin, images flickering across the surface. What had been, was now, and could be flashed in front of her as she watched. So many decisions. So many outcomes. So very many ways that the world could continue….or end. She saw the black dragon in many of them, a dark beacon of strange hope in a hopeless situation. She saw him sitting with her grandsons beneath the stars as the young elves petted his dark scales. She saw as he had saved young Estel, tending the feverish lad with tenderness that was in contrast to the beastly form he took. She saw the black dragon standing in front of a tall, dark figure as the icy pale sword fell downward in a dangerous arc-

The mirror's surface began to bubble, distorting the image and boiling the water away into vapor before she could get good detail off of the vision. She sighed in frustration. The stone basin was empty now, but the mist hung heavily over her head.

"Still does the black dragon escape your Gaze?"

She turned to see her husband standing at the base of the stone stairs that led into her Glade.

"Aye, husband mine. I do not know whether to be supremely afraid or greatly encouraged by the fact that my magic does not follow him. I shall settle for fearfully heartened in his abilities," she replied softly, turning away from the now-empty basin. He stepped behind her, making no sound on the soft grass. His broad hands rested on her shoulders.

"You take too much upon yourself. You said the beast's mind is not set on harm to this world. That is more than we can say for many," he said. She seemed to wilt under his hands.

"His future is tied closely to this place, yet he does not belong. He is like a flame in the midst of a rainstorm, burning bright and warm even as he is out of his element,"

"_Alatáriel_," he purred, his hands moving from her shoulders to wrap her in his arms. "You are the light of my life, the reason my heart beats. Long have I loved you, and longer still will the flame of my passion burn for you. I know your heart as thoroughly as you know mine. You are worried because you cannot See him. But perhaps the reason he cannot be Seen is because of a Higher interference?" **(Maiden crowned with a garland of bright radiance)**

"I do not understand, but I know there are things that I am not supposed to understand. Perhaps this is to tell me that his way is his own, untouchable by me. I just hope the collar about his neck doesn't prove to be as great a problem as I fear. It reeks of the Lord of Gifts," she said, her fair features becoming marred by a scowl. A kiss was placed just below her ear, Celeborn's warm lips trailing sensuously down the side of her throat to the top of her shoulder.

"We have exhausted this topic for now, my Lady of the Tree," he rumbled against her. "Let us retire for the night. I can think of more…_pleasurable_ ways to pass the night."

Laughter bubbled out of her, and Galadriel turned her head slightly so that she could see her husband's face, admiring the almost voracious look he was giving her.

"I'll bet you can!" She laughed aloud. They entwined hands and left the Glade, taking the stone stairs in synchronized steps as they retired to their living quarters.

The heavy mist above the basin glowed with an eldritch light, and two pricks of light condensed, forming a pair of fiery red eyes that watched the retreating back of the Lady and Lord of the Golden wood.

_Keep trying, Tree Wench._

Galadriel paused, whirling back to face the Glade as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. The heavy white mist above the basin was starting to evaporate.

"What is it, love?" Celeborn asked, turning as well. Galadriel's eyes were wide and predatory, but she relaxed upon seeing the plain mist dissolving.

"Nothing, my Lord husband. I merely thought…twas but a trick of my imagination. I should stop Gazing so long…" she trailed off, squeezing his hand. He did pass a look of concern over her.

"You didn't drink the water again did you- ow!"

* * *

He sat on the massive skeletal throne, his flaming eyes staring ahead as he used magic to link his sight with that of the Lidless Eye. He scanned his land, making sure all was going according to plan. It was just another day in Mordor.

Within the boundries of Barad Dûr he could keep this form, an echo of an Age passed, but until he was reunited with the Ring again he could not leave the tower. Well, he could, but he did not keep a corporeal form. He became a wisp of a spirit, barely able to hold a sword aloft. He did not like this weakness. He had only been able to take this solid form in recent years, as the shock of having his most powerful tool cut from his hand had finally began to fade.

Already he knew the Ring was not lost. He could feel the echoes of it, swimming around Arda somewhere on the filthy fingers of one of the Mortal races. It was not held by an Elder, that much he could sense.

He would have it again. He would wear it on his hand again and he would throw down this world beneath his feet. He would set the woods of Lothloríen ablaze. Galadriel, that witch, would tremble beneath his burning touch as he forced himself on her, as he should have when he could still take the fair form of Annatar. Then he would incinerate her as he had that annoying prick Gil-Galad. He would take her ashes and paint her last words on Celeborn's body, before having the Lord of the Golden wood whipped until his entrails spilled upon the blackened earth that had once been his precious forest.

That smug half-breed Elrond would be his own personal decoration. His body would hang in Barad Dûr until it fell to dust on its own. Maybe he would let the Elf-Lord's friend, the Balrog Slayer, watch as his Lord was strung up by his throat. Yes, yes, he _liked _that idea. He would toss that troublesome Grey Wizard into Mount Doom and watch the molten stone melt the flesh from his bones.

And that _dragon. _ It would be his own pet. He would chain it to his throne and make the creature dance to please him. If it refused, he was in possession of whips that could cut through those hard dragon scales. Sauron smiled.

Yes, it was just another day in Mordor.

* * *

A lot of the things that Sauron was ruminating on are mentioned in the Silmarillion. After this paragraph it's not really important so don't worry too much about it. He was just being an evil prick.

Alatáriel was the name that Celeborn gave Galadriel. It's like a pet-name or something, I don't know. I enjoy giving these characters quirks. Nobody is fun when they're so perfect that I have to worry about messing them up just by writing them. I don't like supreme evil characters, or even supreme good. That's so effing _boring. _ Why are they evil? Why are they good? Motivation, boys and girls.

Desert Rose is what happens when lightning strikes sand. It's supposedly very good at channeling fire and light energy, and extremely powerful. I don't know, I just googled some random crap. :3

So, there were some wizards or something in this chapter. You should review. It makes the orcs less likely to gnaw on my legs.


	10. Ithilrhas

This chapter is erratic at best. So many things going on. I'm trying to set up the greatest piece of action in this story. Believe me the action is rising, I just have to pick through the years to get to it. :) Now….I hope that you all enjoy the chapter, even as fragmented as it seems.

* * *

Chapter 10 - Ithilrhas

Running.

He was running. His large, broad paws struck the ground furiously as he ran. He could hear the howling and roars behind him, yet he still ran. They sought to capture him, tether him, _tame him. _He would not be tamed. He would not allow himself to be used like a beast of burden. He was not for riding, he was not for carrying an army.

Three arrows were stuck in his thigh, making his heart race with worry and agony. His left side was covered with blood and dirt, matting his thick silver fur to his thickly muscled body and outlining his broad frame.

A howl to his left was the only warning before a great grey figure bowled into him, knocking him to the ground and burying razor sharp fangs in his throat. He fought wildly, but the creature held him still with a sharp shake of his head. He was gasping for breath underneath the grey beast, his yellow eyes whirling as he watched for the others to join them.

A tall, broad man stepped out of the trees and began towards him, his muscular legs making wide strides.

"It took quite a while to take you down, Wolf." he growled, his voice like the sound of boulders being crushed together. "Captain wants you for breeding. We are going to use your blood to strengthen the Warg population. You should feel honored," he growled.

The great yellow eyes closed slightly in defeat. He was injured, exhausted, and unable to think of a way out of this.

"If it were up to me I'd slit your beastly throat for the trouble you've caused. But it ain't up to me. Captian wants you for your coc-," An arrow blossomed suddenly from his throat. He seemed surprised for a moment, before keeling over neatly on the forest floor.

The Warg holding him released him when an arrow caught it in the forehead. He shook off the dead beast, dragging himself to a position on his belly and trying to crawl away. A pair of legs came into his sight, the feet tipped in black leather boots. His chest heaved with effort, but he looked up.

He was beastly in appearance. He was the size of a shorter Man, built with lean muscle and carrying a black longbow. His face was pinched and thin, but the skin was a deep graying green color, his narrow slanted eyes the color of angry rubies.

"Well, well, wolf. We been tracking you fer quite a while. You done caught the interest of some bad people. Lucky fer you ye also caught the interest of some better people," he finished. His voice was deep and gravelly, but not violent or angry sounding. He lifted a wooden whistle to his mouth and blew a complicated tune that sounded like the cries of a raven put to song.

He heard the sound of horses' hooves, and two riders emerged from the wood.

"The wagon is ready, Gismblog," one of them growled. The two were both of similar build and coloring. One of them could pass for human save the ugly grey color of his skin. His round eyes were the color of charcoal, black and expressionless.

"Get those arrows out and bind the wound. We'll be at camp by sunrise," Gismblog barked. "We mean you no harm, wolf. We are in the same boat, all of us. You ain't no wolf. You ain't no Warg. Don't know what ye are, but we got ya now,"

The other two dismounted their horses, with one of them retrieving a medical pack from his saddle bags. He barely remembered them treating him. He barely remembered being dragged by the horses into another clearing and loaded into a wagon. He barely remembered the jogging, lurching journey through twists and turns through the forest and up into the mountains.

The sun peaked over the mountain top, illuminating the craggy mountain path that they took. He shivered as the cool light covered his body. He felt the transformation of the full moon abate, and his body twisted and shifted back, unable to expend the energy to stay as the wolf. His silver hair was matted with mud, sweat and blood, and the bandage they had wrapped around his lupine thigh went loose. He could only vaguely feel the wrist holster with his wand strapped to his arm.

The wagon stopped and the riders paused in shock and awe. Gismblog recovered first, looking down at the trembling, naked form now in the wagon.

"Well by the fire of the Lidless Eye! Ain't never seen nothing like it in all my days! You really are a Half-n-Half, aint ya?" he said with an incredulous laugh. "What's yer name there, wolf-man?" he asked.

He wet his lips, tasting blood and dirt in his mouth as he tried to draw the breath to speak.

"Ph-Phelan Grr...Grey-...Greyback."

* * *

Gandalf, the dear, had been very helpful in his quest to aid her in making a magical staff. They had tried the wood of trees in the immediate vicinity of the forest. Then they had wrangled Thranduil into their search. After doing some deep research into the magickal properties of wood and compiling suitable evidence that would match it to traits and powers that Draca possessed, they had the Elf King send for some samples. Other trees that grew deeper in the forest, and even some from outside of Mirkwood. Thranduil had affected a much put-upon attitude about it, but between the elder Wizard, Legolas, and Orion, they were able to sweet-talk him (or just pester, in Gandalf's case) the King until he complied.

The moment she had laid eyes on the rough bough of cherry wood, she knew it was the one. It was an unassuming brown, incredibly straight and still adorned with the smooth bark. She ignored the other boughs sitting around it and knelt, picking up the wood and touching it gently.

"You've found it, then?" Gandalf asked. She nodded. "The next part is the longest. You must prepare the wood. Let the magic inside of you guide your hand, and it will tell you exactly what you need to do," he finished, leaning a bit on his own staff. He remembered the process as if it were yesterday. He had prepared his own staff before sailing to Middle Earth. It had filled him with great pride to finally present the finished product to the Valar-

Oh my.

The Istari had been messengers of the Valar, servants sent to aid the world and shine a light of hope in the presence of the darkness of Sauron. This girl, and the boy as well, were not born in Valinor. They were not Maiar, but they were clearly of magical blood. He was unsure exactly what would happen upon completion of her staff. Well, no matter. Already begun the process now…he could see the magic in her eyes as she held what would become her best friend and greatest ally.

"What if I mess it up?" Draca asked suddenly, looking like a child that had been told to take up a blade and do surgery.

"You will not. Any knick, or indention, or ribbon, or smear of stain upon the wood is supposed to be there. The staff-making time will pass as a haze before you, easily remembered but difficult to control. It will consume you until such time as the final touch is placed upon it. Once the wood is prepared, all that remains is to attach the channel to it. Once the stone is in place then the staff is complete," he said, conveniently leaving out what he was unsure about.

"When you say 'haze,'" Legolas trailed off softly, glancing at the way his adopted sister's face seemed to smooth out with unresponsiveness.

"She will be lost to you for a time. Do not think this will be forever. It could be days, weeks, perhaps longer. It took Radagast fourteen years to complete his staff. Personally I think he was just a little too attached to the pipe weed he used to produce ashes he mixed in with the stain upon his staff," Gandalf said, looking both amused and frustrated at the mention of the Brown Wizard. "But it only took Saruman a fortnight to complete his staff. I myself took a healthy five years," he completed.

"If she is lost to us for that time, then I will travel," Orion said, frowning. "I will return when her staff is complete."

"You do not wish to undergo the making of a staff?" Gandalf asked the young Wizard. Orion looked at the cloudy gaze on Draca's face, before drawing his wand from his sleeve.

"No. I feel that this staff is something that she needs to do. My wand was not broken and my magic is still tethered to it. Wands and staves are similar in the fact that it is a great friend and ally and is supposed to last forever. Doesn't always happen, of course, but many times wands live to be passed down from generation to generation," Orion said, swishing his wand softly and watching the idle silver sparkles of magic fall.

Gandalf nodded absent-mindedly. His eyes were drawn to Draca as she stood, holding the cherry bough close to her body as if to protect it. He smiled.

The bonding process had already begun.

* * *

_(Four Years Later)_

She held the stone in her hand, and could almost feel the thrum of magic in her palm. It was an uncommon stone, and it had taken quite a while to get one of its like. Once they had discovered the right family of stone, it was just a matter of time until they could find the right _one. _ Of course, she now owed the Elf-King quite a few favors for this, as it was from his own personal collection of jewels. But he had told her that he would rather be missing a jewel or two and have a fully capable wizard than all of his riches with a useless mage that could only sputter fire from her fingertips.

Legolas had been suitably offended on her behalf, and petulantly mentioned that when the staff was complete, the newly re-forged Istar could probably turn Thranduil into a newt. The elven king, of course, and merely purred that the Lady-Wizard could do what she wished, but he was doubtful that she would make it out of the palatial caves alive if something were to happen to the King of Mirkwood.

She caressed the lovingly carved head of the staff. The place where her channel would rest was wooden settings, nestling the stone on the tip of the staff like a diamond on a ring. A large curved blade rested just beneath the setting of the channel. It was actually three blades nestled together, and with the release of a small catch and the flick of the staff, it unfolded like an exaggerated wing. The blade was curved in a way that would allow it to slice in an upswing or a downswing, and connected to the body of the staff by use of bands of silver that entwined the staff and grew thinner and more delicate the further down they twisted.

The place where her hand rested was soft but sturdy dark leather braided around the wood intricately and carefully. A braid of silvery hair from her form as a unicorn was wrapped tightly around the hand rest, feeding down into the leather to be held firmly in place. The bottom tip of the staff was shod in silver, with more delicate vinework curving upward for several inches in a delicate pattern. The only thing left to do was place the stone in its setting.

Orion had left a few weeks after she had begun. While she was still carefully whittling away the bark on the outside of the raw cherry bough, he had come to her and told her he was going to travel towards Rohan to seek their friends. If he could not find them there, he would go further south. Perhaps they had been thrown as far as Harad? The haze of her staff-work had confused her, and now that it was finally starting to fade in the wake of her near completion, she felt sad and tired.

It had taken much more than she had figured to make the staff. To make and attach the fine silver blades she had actually had to learn the forge herself. She supposed her magic aided a bit, because the skill had been picked up long enough for her to make the blade, but she could not tell you which end of the forge was which at this point. Every thread of silver wire along the wood had been lovingly placed, wrapping tightly until it bit into the wood and would not unravel.

The hairs had been gathered by raking her mane through a bush as the light of the full moon had made the silvery strands glitter. She had killed the deer that made the leather on her hand rest, treating and cutting the strips herself before braiding them onto the wood and holding them in place with more delicate strands of silver.

Four more years come and gone, but she did not look as if she had aged at all since being in Mirkwood. She wondered if it was because she was a wizard, or if it was because she was part Elf? It had been six years since the four of them had fallen into this place. But the time had passed quicker than she realized. She had come out of the haze slightly at times, when learning the forge and waiting for materials to arrive or finish drying. She had slept and ate and bathed just like a regular person, even conversing with people if they talked to her first…but she had not truly been in control of her faculties. She had been driven by instinct and magic.

"Is it almost finished?"

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Legolas standing at the doorway. She barely remembered any of their interactions over the past few years. She knew that he came and saw her at least once every day, except on the few days or weeks at a time that he had exploring or gone on a hunting party. She felt incredibly sad that she had been working on this damned staff longer than she had known her brother-prince.

"Yes. All I have to do is set the channel." She said, holding the stone. It was jade, but of an uncommon black color. Though the color was dark it glittered with warmth of its own.

"I have missed you, _tithen gwathel."_ Legolas said, giving her a broad smile.

"I missed you too, brother in my heart." She said, smiling back. "Would you like to watch?" she asked, her grey eyes beginning to sparkle a bit as she thought about finishing the magical instrument. He came further into the room she had adopted as her work room, honestly curious as she held the jade up to the wooden setting. She pushed the stone into place with little resistance, but there was a shift in the air suddenly that Legolas knew meant that anyone trying to remove that stone would not have an easy time of it. The stone lit up with magic swiftly, bathing the room in a cool green light. Draca smiled, feeling the magic running through her veins. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel after _so long._

She opened her eyes to speak to Legolas, and realized with a start that she was no longer in the room in Mirkwood. She appeared to be in a forest clearing, standing in a circle of beings that she didn't recognize. They were tall and fair, like elves, but there was something ancient and commanding about them that she didn't understand.

One of them, a powerful looking man with gleaming golden eyes and a sharp face, stepped forward.

"Welcome, Istar, to the presence of the Valar. Rise, and claim your magic before us." He said, his mighty voice making Draca feel even smaller. She held onto the new staff like a lifeline, her eyes going wide and staring at the beings as though they would eat her.

A beautiful woman to the right of the golden eyed man gave her a bright smile. Her hair was black as midnight, catching the light with thousands of sparkles that reminded Draca of a starlit sky.

"I believe you are frightening her, husband," the woman said, laughter bubbling in her voice. The man tilted his head.

"Did Olórin not tell you that you would have to pass before us to claim the title Istar?" he asked. Draca continued to stare, her wide-eyed fear and confusion almost palpable amongst them.

A man dressed in robes the color of the sea cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. She is not even familiar with the idea of us, much less being summoned here to present a newly forged staff," he said. His voice was like the stirring of the waves, peaceful and strong.

Draca seemed to come back to herself a little, starting suddenly and looking at them one by one. The sharp-faced being that had spoken first smiled broadly at her.

"I am Manwë."

* * *

Legolas was horrified when she keeled over. One moment she was clutching the finished staff and the next she was face-first on the floor. He dropped beside her, lifting her into his arms with worry etched into his fair face. The stone on her staff pulsed with palpable magic, glowing an eerie, emerald green as she clutched it so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"Draca? Can you hear me, sister? You must wake up. We need to let my father know that you have finished your staff," he said, his voice rather desperate. "Draca?"

And with a gasp she awoke. For a moment her grey eyes glowed silver, before she turned a horrified gaze to Legolas.

"I am going to fucking _stab Gandalf in the face!" _she hissed angrily. Legolas' eyes widened at the vehement exclamation.

"What…what happened?" he asked.

"I had to take my staff before the _Valar._ I had to tell them the process of making it and claim my new form of magic in front of them. That grey _coot _didn't tell me that! I was completely unaware. I'm sure Manwë thought I was retarded!" she was chattering like a squirrel on a sugar rush.

"Did they accept you?" he asked her, grinning at her hyperactive anger. She paused in her rapid-fire speech and looked at him. Then she smiled shyly.

"They told me that I was here for great purposes. They told me that my magic was a gift and should be used well. They wouldn't tell me if I'll ever go home. They also wouldn't tell me where the other two of my friends are. They said I had the tools to find them and would have to search myself." She said, sounding miffed. Legolas gave her a bright grin.

"You'll find them. You found Orion, didn't you? You just have to be patient," he reassured her. Suddenly her face twisted in sadness. "What is it?"

"They told me I need to leave here. I need to travel and use my magic. They gave me a name and a purpose, and it is not here," she whispered. He looked sad as well, reaching up to brush away a strand o her silvery blonde hair from her face.

"What did they name you?" he asked sadly.

"Ithilrhas the Green." She said simply.

"Moon horn?" He grinned.

"Wise and powerful they may be, but they were rather unimaginable. They seemed surprised I had attached a blade to my staff. Although Lady Varda thought it was lovely," she swelled with pride. "And they said that green would be my rank. I am the youngest Istar recognized by the Valar. I am still but a wisp of a child in their eyes. A green shoot, so to say. And so I am the Green Wizard, destined to travel as the wind blows the leaves…" she finished, sounding a bit grumpy.

"There's no reason to think that just because you must travel that we won't see each other. Mithrandir comes through Mirkwood all the time," Legolas said brightly. Draca smiled. "Besides, you also don't have to leave immediately either, do you? We can catch up on everything that's been happening while you made your staff. I believe Orion left word for you when you finished, and there are some fresh honey cakes cooling in the kitchens."

And then Legolas drew himself to his feet, taking her hand and drawing her up as well. He held out his arm for her, and she linked her own through his and the two walked out of the room. A new day had dawned for Ithilrhas, and she would soon set out to fulfill a destiny the very gods of this world had set before her.

But until such a thing happened there was always time for honey cakes.

* * *

He sat under the tree with the Lord of Imladris, his long head resting on the thick luxurious fabric of the robes Elrond wore. The elf-lord in question was absent-mindedly stroking the dragon's large pointed ear with one hand, and holding a book with the other. He knew that if his friends could see him now they would tease him mercilessly. The mighty dragon had become nothing more than a scaly house-cat.

There was a commotion as three figures emerged into the garden that the two were relaxing in. The twin sons of Lord Elrond and his foster son clomped rather noisily into the place, all three of them covered in mud and laughing boisterously.

"I know that you three aren't tracking mud onto my nice clean garden path with the intention of taking same-said mud into my nice clean house…" Elrond said without looking up. The hand that had been stroking the dragon's ear moved to a bowl beside him, plucking a piece of cut apple from the bowl and holding it up to the dragon's snout.

The forked tongue shot out and wrapped around the apple, pulling it into his mouth and chomping into the sweet fruit happily. He was rewarded with a gentle pat across his head. Aw, fuck it. He might be an overgrown house-cat, but god bless it this was nicer than being shot full of arrows.

The three newcomers looked at each other.

"But this is the shortest way in, _Ada_," Elrohir said. Elrond turned a page in his book.

"You three mud-monsters can go wash yourselves by the river and then come up. Water spots dry but mud has to be scrubbed," he answered, picking out a grape from the bowl of fruit and eating it himself.

"It's December!" Estel argued. Elrond finally looked over the edge of his book, and the dragon's head rose up slightly, fixing them with an annoyed glare for interrupting the quiet time.

"Then perhaps next time you won't get so muddy when you were only supposed to be having archery practice…" Elrond intoned silkily, one eyebrow inching ever higher as he gave them a _look._ They all took one glance at his face and turned tail to rinse off the worst of the sodden mud in the chilly waters before they would be allowed back into the house.

James laid his head back across Elrond's lap, snorting a puff of sparks. He went boneless with pleasure as those long fingers found a sensitive spot just under his ear.

"It is good being Lord of Rivendell, _Naurlam._ It gets things done," He said. After a few minutes he reached down to pluck another piece of fruit from the bowl, and noticed it empty. He happened to glance down, and noticed that Naurlam's snout had a bit of an apple peel stuck just above his lip, and he was trying entirely _too hard_ to look innocent. Elrond sighed. **(Fire tongue)**

"I get no respect."

* * *

First things first: Yay! Phelan!

Second things next: I am not going into detail about what happened with the Valar. Honestly those bastards are so blessedly confusing that I had to check a couple sources just to make sure I didn't sound stupid with what I _did _mention. Now….it does seem a bit Mary-Sueish to have Draca become an Istar. But hear me out: She was already a Witch. She just lost her wand. This whole thing is part of something really neat, I promise. Besides, once I get into the next arc of the story, Draca isn't a super-major player. She's important, don't get me wrong, but not overly so. :P

James didn't have anything important to do right here. I'm trying to let him relax where he can. He's got some bad stuff coming up. *Evil face*


	11. Redlings and Black Mirrors

God. I know, I know. Crazy shit just seems to keep happening to Draca that makes her more and more like a god-forsaken Mary Sue. *Frown* But all of this crap is important. And it will lead to some really unique stuff, I swear it. There was few other ways I could make what I need to happen go down. If it makes you all feel better, she's not all-powerful. She was a witch before, and she's a witch now. She just had to go in a roundabout way to re-access her magic. Not everyone will love her and squeeze her and call her 'George.' (Crazy reference ftw) And most of all, she is not the love interest of the Prince of Mirkwood. Aye, I'll admit that she did gain his favor in the form of an adopted sibling, but I think that's more acceptable than that crazy love at first sight stuff. She's about to get a large dose of reality soon, and I think it will be refreshing not to be sappy and syrupy with her.

Now. I am still _so _on board with this story. I have _so much shit _floating around in my brain for this tale. I need to know if this is working. Is this a coherent storyline, vaguely resembling a plot with characters? Or is it a steaming pile of horse fudge? Inquiring minds would like to know…

* * *

Chapter 11 – Redlings and Black Mirrors

He awoke, feeling tired and heavy with medicines. He blinked slowly as he tried to shake off the heavy curtain of sleep. A face swam into his vision, greying green with crimson eyes.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Greyback. Name's Gismblog," the creature growled, his voice grating on Phelan's ears. Phelan stuck his tongue out in an attempt to wet his lips, but he was low on saliva at the moment. Gismblog moved forward, putting a callous-roughened hand underneath Phelan's head and hauling him into a sitting position. His limbs were weighted by exhaustion and whatever pain medicine they had plied him with. A clay cup was placed to his lip and tilted back. Cool water dribbled down his chin a little before he could get his mouth open. He drank greedily and drained the cup, gasping a bit when the rim was removed from his mouth.

"Where…am I?" Phelan gasped, looking around. He was in a wooden cabin of some sort, and now that he was more aware he could smell the clean astringency of a healing area, interspersed with the earthy fragrance of healing herbs. Gismblog eased him back onto the sheets.

"We been tracking you for months, Master Wolf. All started when you decided it would be fun to take out an entire regiment of goblins all by your pretty little lonesome," Gismblog said conversationally. Phelan's pale face colored slightly.

"Well, they…they pissed me off. There I was, trying to eat my freshly caught supper, and a handful of those fraggle-faced fuckers comes out of nowhere, howling and tossing their sticks at me," Phelan growled. Gismblog noticed that his canine teeth were pronounced in his mouth, giving him sharp fangs.

"A handful? There were forty of them," he pointed out. Phelan shrugged.

"They weren't prepared for a lone wolf to fight back so fiercely," he replied. Then his yellow eyes gleamed and he grinned rather wolfishly. "They didn't get a chance to learn from their mistake. It's a monster eat monster world out here, and I feasted like a king."

Gismblog nodded as if confirming something. "Aye. And then the chief goblin complained to the wrong people, and the orcs got after you to breed with their little warg-mounts."

Phelan shuddered. "Those bitches are ugly. I ain't mounting that…" And he gave a sheepish grin when Gismblog barked out a harsh laugh.

"I _like _you, Wolf-man. Now tell old Gismblog about how you change to and from a wolf," he coaxed, but Phelan caught underlying steel in the words.

"Ain't much to tell. I'm a shape-shifter. Couldn't hold the form any longer, though. Drained all my energy," he said smoothly, conveniently leaving out the word 'werewolf.' There was no telling the connotation in this world. Gismblog nodded again. Phelan went into a little more detail than that, telling Gismblog that he was from a far away land, and had lost the people he had been traveling with. He had been traveling the lands searching for them.

"Now perhaps you'll answer where we are?" Phelan asked. Gismblog's crimson eyes locked with his, and for several moments they stared each other down. Gismblog gave a fierce, sharp-toothed grin of his own.

"You're at Redling Village. We are a faction of men and women who are caught quite violently between two worlds, welcomed by neither and accepted by none," he said, and Phelan smelled the subtle scent of sorrow.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"We're Halflings, Greyback. You familiar with what orcs do to females if they capture 'em?"

Phelan grimaced. He had come across a scene not too long after coming to this world. He had been dropped in the middle of the wilderness, so he had taken to his wolf form to survive. He had found a small village in the mountains that had been attacked by orcs. The men had been murdered as well as any male children. But the females….a few of them had known what was coming and took their own lives. But the others…

He had been unfamiliar with the strength of orcs at that time, and had not attacked in their defense. Their screams had rang in his ears for weeks.

"Aye," he answered softly.

"Well we are the result of those couplings. Half-n-half. Sometimes the women survive those attacks. Sometimes they aren't broken beyond repair. And sometimes they come up with child. Some of them will purge the child, but the others will have it. Their families abandon them and the babe. They are cast aside for their unwillingness to dash the poor Halfling's brains out against the nearest tree,"

Phelan inhaled sharply. He met Gismblog's eyes again.

"Some of them remedy that. Some will cast the child away. _Trash. _ And so we find them, if we can. We have packs of Redlings that wander the lands, searching for the unwanted children. We've taken the mothers in as well, the ones who are trying to raise their poor bastards and are cast out by society. Some of us look more like our mothers than our fathers, but most of us will never know what it's like to walk unnoticed among Men,"

"That's terrible," Phelan rumbled. "Why…why were you interested in me?" he asked curiously. Gismblog's dark eyebrows knit together.

"We thought you were the mix of Warg and wolf. We take those in, too. They make much more even-tempered mounts than full wargs. Extremely loyal and fierce. We were going to take you in to keep your blood out of the hands of the Orcs," he explained. "We don't need them getting any advantages."

"Why do you call this Redling Village?" Phelan asked. Gismblog reached to his side and pulled out a dagger. Phelan bristled immediately, his teeth baring and his fingers crooking into claws.

"Calm down there, Hair-trigger. I'm gonna show you something," Gismblog said, amused at Phelan's reaction. He held out his other hand palm down, and drew the blade across the back of his hand, making a shallow cut. Deep, dark red blood welled up from the slice. "Our blood ain't black like the Orcs or Goblins we're descended from. We bleed the red blood of our mothers. It ain't the best indicator of sanity, but it's the best we got," Gismblog said, wiping his blade on his cloak and sheathing it at his side.

"Sanity?"

"Not every Redling is good. Some of them inherit the blood lust and violence of their fathers. We try to discover them as soon as possible and put them out of their misery. We can't help them and we don't need any more enemies. It sounds cruel, I know, but it's all as quick and painless as possible," he explained. Phelan could smell the sorrow creeping into his voice again. "Now! Enough of that, we'll answer any other questions later. The village is entirely curious about the man-wolf that showed up in our village entirely naked and injured."

Phelan was given some basic clothes to wear once he was well enough to get up and leave the healing cabin. They were patched and rough, but they were clean and he was appreciative. He had even managed to get his wand back, and now it was securely strapped to his arm with the leather holster. Gismblog had given him a hard stare when he returned the seemingly innocent stick, but he hadn't said anything about it.

The village was like nothing Phelan had ever seen. Everywhere there were children and young men and women bustling about, most all of them in various 'shades' of Orc or Goblin. It was clear that these people were not fully human, but the ugliness of their fathers was somehow softened in their faces. Most of them would never be pretty or handsome, but they were not deformed, either.

A large grey pup ran across his path, stopping and looking up at him with eyes of such a pale blue that they appeared white.

"That's a half-n-half pup. We found a litter of them abandoned in the wood. One didn't make it, but the other three are growing well. We call them Warfs," Gismblog said. Phelan stared down the pup with his severe yellow eyes. The pup seemed horrified for some reason, pinning its large tufted ears back and running off with a whimper. Phelan turned to look at Gismblog, who was staring at him with a curious expression.

"Just establishing dominance... I don't turn my belly up for anyone," He snarled, once again showing his teeth. Gismblog shook his head with a grin.

A young girl ran up to the two, passing Phelan as she planted herself into Gismblog's legs, shrieking happily. He bent down and plucked her up, sitting her on his shoulder.

"And where you running off to in such a hurry, Ana?" he asked gruffly.

The little girl was small but well-defined. The effect was like a six-year-old being the size of a three-year-old. Her limbs and body were growing, but her stature was diminished. Her skin was an ashy grey color, her eyes an interesting shade of orange. Her white teeth were sharp as she laughed.

"Missed you, Gis," she said simply, pressing her cheek to his. Her orange eyes caught sight of Phelan. "Is dis tha wuff-man?" she asked excitedly.

"Aye, lass, it is. Run along to yer ma, now. You know she don't like you running off," he said, placing the little girl back on the ground. She adjusted her plain brown skirt and looked at Phelan again. Her cheeks darkened slightly and shy began to shuffle at the dirt shyly with her little leather slippers.

"You look like a wuff even now," she observed. His wild silver hair was not combed and in fact was sticking out rather like a mane. His eyes were yellow and intense, and even his sharp canines seemed to poke slightly over his lip to give him a lupine appearance even when he stood on two legs. Phelan knelt down on one knee and leaned towards her as if to tell a great secret. She leaned her head towards him, her pointed ear twitching.

"_I rather think I smell like one, too,_" he whispered conspiratorially. She howled with laughter, turning to Phelan and pressing a quick kiss to his surprised face before running off so fast that her sleek black hair became but a banner behind her.

"She yours?" Phelan asked as he stood. Gismblog sighed.

"Nay. Not by blood. In a way, though, they're all mine. I founded this village. I gathered the first few little bastards by hand. In thanks they have returned the favor, and so on through the years. I am the oldest living Redling at the moment. My name literally means _half-blood _in the Black Speech," he said conversationally. Phelan nodded.

"Not many grown men around here," he noticed.

"They don't make it. The boys are sometimes reclaimed for the Orkin army. They are taken if they are caught out, and we never see them again. They die quickly under the rule of their father's people. Too soft to last. Even their training here don't prepare them for the horrors of the armies of Mordor. I wish I could spare them. Very few father figures here. Too many leaving and not enough growing up. Some of them reach adulthood and decide they hate their mother's people for abandoning them and voluntarily leave," His crimson eyes glanced over the bustling village.

Each one of these younglings had a story. They had hearts and feelings, and talents, and fears, and the world had thrown them away because of the misfortune of their birth. If he could but make the world see their value.

"What can I do?" Phelan asked. Gismblog's head whirled to face Phelan. "I am a stranger in this world. I have never been quite superstitious, but I know that my presence in this world has to have a purpose. What can I do for these people?" he asked. Gismblog stared at him for several long moments.

"The wolves grow restless sometimes. Be their Master. Just be here. That's what we need," he said. Phelan grinned, showing as many teeth as he could.

"Then call me the Wolfmaster. So long as my lot as thrown in with this world, I shall fight for and with these people."

* * *

"Wilt thou make him feast on the blood of the Lord of Imladris?"

The sibilant voice was starting to grate on his nerves. Murazor was his most powerful and faithful Captain, but he was an annoying little bitch when he started talking. Morgoth's Evil! the lad just wouldn't _shut up._

"It is not time, my little Witch-King," Sauron hissed in annoyance. Murazor shifted impatiently, his metal armor clinking as he stared into the bowl of black water. It was a Dark version of Galadriel's mirror, forged from the stone of Mt Doom and filled with black water from his own private store. It was less energy consuming as other forms of Scrying, and less telling than using the Palantír. He was supposed to be _powerless, _after all!

In the dark water an image was playing. A black dragon balanced on its back legs, drawing back a massive bow and releasing its burden. The arrow struck the target with such force that it was knocked back several feet. Two identical Elves watched the scene, shuddering at the power behind the arrow.

"He is but several paces from the Elf-Lord at any time. The bearer of one of the Three could be struck down with a blast of Dragon fire. Call the tiny beast out like Ancalagon! The skies would be alight with terror. All bowing before you, the Master, and quivering in fear as your Shadow overwhelmed them, slowly strangling the life from their world. Your enemies impaled on pikes, lining the road to Mordor! Their mates and children strung by their necks and dangling about the Black Gates!"

"Calm the fuck down, Murazor!" Sauron snapped. His gauntleted hand landed heavily on the Witch-King's shoulder, pressing a place between his shoulder and neck with a certain amount of force. The Witch King of Angmar went boneless beneath his Master's hand, sitting heavily at his feet. After a few moments feeling returned to the Wraith, and he buried his shrouded face against his Master's leg. Sauron hated it when he had to resort to common foul language to catch his Captain's attention.

"Forgive me, my Master. I speak in excitement of the future, one in which thy Ring is returned. Have mercy on a wretched wraith," his words were thick with the empty emotion of his slavery.

_Goddammit now he's being dramatic. _Sauron heaved a long-suffering sigh, and decided to ignore the Witch-King's behavior.

"I have a great plan for him. He is not a pawn to throw away. Let him be safe for a while. Let him think he is untouchable amongst the magic of the Hidden Valley. He thinks his own power may hold me at bay. I am no wet behind the ears Mage that he may try his supremacy against. He will know the Might of Sauron. The Dark Hand will fall heavily on him and he will break under its power," Sauron was practically foaming at the mouth with anticipation of chaos and fear. He could feel Murazor vibrating with a similar eagerness.

"He will bow before me in his brokenness and then, once his precious life lies before him in ashes, will he have my permission to perish."

* * *

James walked back and forth between the rooms of Healing. A group of guards had been savagely attacked by a pack of Orcs they had been tracking. Two did not make it back alive, and the rest were in various states of disrepair. He was helping the healers, bandaging and plying young warriors with herbal medicines. No healer ranked him save Elrond, and the elf-lord had seen plenty of evidence of his prowess with herbs, and did not bother him as he worked.

One of the riders was a young boy. It had been his first time riding out, and now he was laid up in bed with a sword blow that had split him from left shoulder to right hip. James was leaning over him with a delicate needle and thread, sewing the skin back together so the young man would not bleed out. His claws were an advantage and disadvantage at times. Right now they were good for plucking the narrow tip of the needle through the flesh with subtle enough pricks that the thread would hold but would scar as little as possible. It took a light hand to accomplish, and the riders that had been stitched by him would praise him for his skill. Everyone who had seen him work was impressed.

All except the mother of this young man, who happened upon the room as he was finishing the stitches. She shrieked in horror and dove past an assistant that tried to catch her. James' claws were stained up to his wrist in blood, and he let go of the needle to raise his hands to catch the woman.

"Monster! Beast! _Murderer! _My son is not yours to toy with!" she yelled.

One of the assistant healers finally got hold of her, wrapping her in his arms and dragging her away from the dragon that was healing her son.

"Aratinnu! Stop this foolishness! Look!" the man hissed, pointing to the stitching across the boy's abdomen. The woman was wailing now, horrified by the sight of her son so damaged. "He is badly hurt, but _Naurlam _is patching him with a skill that Lord Elrond himself has praised. Your son is well-medicated and does not feel pain. He is lucky to be treated by such a kind and attentive healer," the man said firmly. Her wails petered out as she watched the dragon wash his claws in a basin beside him before taking up the needle again and finishing the last few stitches. A simple nip of his claws cut the thread, and he motioned for one of the other healers to come with bandages. He washed his claws again so he would not track blood, and moved to another room to deal with a more minor gash.

By the time night fell in Rivendell and all the injured were cared for there were many exhausted healers. Even the chief healer, the Lord of Rivendell was tired. But the Dragon of Imladris worked tirelessly, making sure the worst injuries were taken care of and the ones who bore them embraced in a gentle sleep before he finally retired to Elrond's office.

Elrond sat at the desk, holding a cup of steaming tea in his hand and merely inhaling the scent as he stared unblinkingly ahead. James had his own saucer of hot tea in front of him, and occasionally flicked his tongue into the bowl, but mostly he just curled up in a large black lump. His tail was wrapped around him, the tip swishing languidly as he rested.

"Your help was greatly appreciated, my friend," Elrond said suddenly, glancing at the dragon. He had been greatly impressed by the work of those nimble claws, and several of the warriors had spoken praise of the beast's quick assessment of their situation and the gentleness and care in which he dealt with their injuries. There were several of them that had needed stitches, and the few that _Naurlam _had done were professional indeed.

A healer burst into the room, looking harried and sad. Elrond looked up, placing his cup of tea on the desk before him. James' triangular head swiveled towards to noise and he uncoiled slowly, stretching out along the floor.

"My Lord, I'm sorry for disturbing your rest. They've just informed Brethil's wife of his death. She is inconsolable," the elf said softly. Elrond stood from his chair, and noticed that the dragon stood with him.

"I will go to her, _Naurlam_. You do not have to," he said, but found that the winged lizard was following him anyway. They could hear the desperate, heart-wrenching wails long before they reached the room she had been left in. She was sobbing in the elven language, and James could only pick up fragments of it. He had never really officially learned the language, though he heard it often enough over the last six years.

When Elrond glided into the room, the woman's sorrow turned on him.

"My Lord, My Lord, please tell me it isn't so!" she sobbed, lurching forward from the embrace of one of the assistant healers and falling before his feet. James felt a stab in his heart as he recognized the woman. She was a cheerful sort, usually, tending to the gardens and sometimes slipping him sweets smuggled from the kitchens.

Elrond slid to a kneeling position in front of her, resting one of his hands on her shoulder and tipping up her face with the other.

"He died defending his home, Tesare-,"

The loud, wrenching sobs did not start up again, but a low moan tore itself from her lips. She leaned forward and grasped Elrond's robe for support. He drew her in like a father holds a child, and her sobs renewed against his shoulder. He made a stirring motion behind her back to the assistant that had held her, and the white-skirted young woman bustled off to make a calming tea.

James was uncomfortable with all the emotion floating around. The whole room smelled weird with the sheer depth of the emotions assaulting his senses. Actually, that wasn't true. But he smelled something strange in the room. And it wasn't a 'hey I didn't do that' kind of smell. He knew those well. For all the Elves of Imladris wanted to be pissy and snotty about bodily functions, they had them, too, and James found them just as hilarious when it was an elf.

His snout tilted upwards, trying to determine the origin of the smell. He tilted his head towards the healer that had brought them there, his long tongue flitting from his mouth several times. No...not him. His trusty nose turned towards where Elrond knelt with Tesare, flitting his tongue at the elf's back. No...not him either. He moved a few steps forward, pointing his nose at the distraught female and inhaling deeply.

Yes! It was her! She smelled strange to his nose. He had smelled this scent before, and it stirred something in him. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out why it was so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time.

The other elf returned with a cup of strong tea, bordering on a powerful sedative. James could practically taste the strong medicine in the tea. Whew, this woman must have been more distraught before they came, because this elf was about to drug her senseless. His tongue flitted again, trying to pin down that elusive scent about Tesare.

Elrond received the cup of tea from the assistant and managed to get Tesare to scoot back a bit trying to ply her with the tea like a father getting medicine to his child-

Holy frigging cabbage patch dolls, Batman!

She was pregnant! He shot forward, dragging the teacup out of Elrond's grasp with a gasp. The Elf-Lord was startled by the sudden movement, but his sharp eyes glared angrily at the dragon. If looks could kill, the scaly hide would have burst into flame and melted clean off of his hollow bones.

"_Naurlam_." Elrond snipped tightly. James held the tea in one paw, balancing on his back legs and motioning towards the door with his head. The universal sign for 'I need to speak with you.' "This is not the time," Elrond bit out the words. "Give me the cup,"

James shook his head. This tea was by far too powerful for an expectant mother. It _might_ not hurt her or the baby, but it wasn't a risk he would take with her. Not her. She'd been kind to him and the loss she had just suffered was too much. He wouldn't let her suffer this as well.

"Dragon."

James growled slightly, trying to form his mouth around the right words. The tip of his forked tongue pressed firmly against the back of his teeth.

"Nnnnoooo..." he growled. Everyone paused. This was the only word he'd ever spoken. His head jerked towards the door again.

"Very well, Naurlam. I will be right back, Tesare. Please try and speak with Menel for a moment," he said gently. The healer that had brought the tea knelt and received the crying elf, and Elrond stood stiffly. "Dragon." He said shortly, indicating that James should lead the way.

James didn't dare put down the tea in case they tried to get her to drink it while he was talking with Elrond. He hobbled out into the hallway, his balance shot with only one empty front paw. As soon as they crossed the doorway James pointed at the tea and then back into the room, shaking his head.

"Why not give her the tea?" Elrond asked, drawing the door closed so that Tesare couldn't see or hear them. James set down the teacup, balancing himself on his hind legs. He pointed into the room to indicate Tesare again and then brought his claws to himself miming a bulge at his middle. Elrond's head tilted slightly. He didn't understand. James made the bulging motion again, and then put his forelegs together as if holding a baby, rocking it back and forth. "What!" he said in a shocked whisper.

James nodded fervently.

"Are you _sure?_" Elrond asked. James nodded again, tapping his nose and flicking his tongue. "You…you could smell it? Do you know how far along she may be?" James shook his head. "The tea…the tea was too strong for a woman expecting…" Elrond murmured. James rumbled in response. "Are you sure, _Naurlam_? If I tell her, and it isn't so…it will destroy her." James was rumbling softly, a deep vibrating purr that shook his whole frame. "She has shown favor to you in the past…you would not harm her any more than I would. I will not tell her today, though. She has suffered enough. I will have a few elleths watch her closely and see if she displays symptoms of pregnancy," His sentences were fractured and jumping around, a sure sign that he was emotionally drained.

James' claws clicked against the stone hallway as he shifted his weight from paw to paw.

"You have been an immeasurable help today, _Naurlam._ Go take your rest in your quarters. I will make sure Tesare is taken care of."

In the next few weeks James kept close watch on the woman. She had taken several days away from her usual work in the gardens, and he had visited her in her rooms. The first time she had been surprised by the arrival of the black dragon. The second time she had wrapped herself around his neck and cried her grief out on his scales. He merely wrapped his arms and wings around her, cocooning her in a soothing dark place in which to cry.

When she was finally confirmed as an expectant mother a few weeks later, and it was known to her who had kept them from giving her much-too-strong medicine, she had hunted James down personally. At the time he had been carving a piece of wood with his claws, making a damn good replica of Draca's unicorn form. Tesare had presented him with a fur-trimmed cloak that was attached to a luxuriously fur-lined vest. The vest fit snugly around his chest, lacing conveniently in the front, and the cloak fell around him in such a way as to cover his sensitive wings and lay down over his back legs. If he moved his wings downward and swept them back, he could easily cast the cloak back between them, which made the cloak no hindrance to his ability to fly.

She had admitted that she had been working on it even before the death of Brethil, but his involvement in her gentle treatment and the protection of her unborn child had made her resolve to finish it quickly. James greatly appreciated the barrier against the winter weather, and had rubbed his snout against her shoulder in an attempt to be grateful.

"I am grateful to you, dragon-friend," she merely said, rubbing him behind his upright ears and placing a tender kiss between his eyes. "I hope the years are kind to you, dragon."

James hoped so, too. But the collar around his neck ached something fierce at times. The Dark Fuck wasn't going to let him forget who had conquered him. And he wasn't keen to forget, either. He knew he'd have to leave Rivendell sometime, to seek his friends and to seek revenge. But something was telling him that the time was not right.

He just hoped that the right time didn't arrive with a harbinger of doom.

* * *

Foreshadowing? Perhaps. More interesting things to be written? Most definitely. I hope to see you guys respond to this story. I hope it is bearable, at least! Please let me know! I can't make you, but I can beg sweetly. :D

Also, remember this story is AU as I take Author's liberties with certain little details, such as Tesare being pregnant. Arwen is going to be given the term Evenstar for her loveliness as opposed to her status as last born elf. I just...I prefer it that way. *Shrug*


	12. Many Shaded Colors

And so, dear readers, I offer unto you a sacrifice of my time and effort. The fruit of my fingers, tapped out lovingly when I'm supposed to be at work- oh, er…I mean, done completely at home when I have free time. Yea…that's it. . .

Anyways, I know that James seems like a great big house-dragon right now. But everything is setting up for a nice little surprise. *Evil, evil smile, like the Grinch when he was about to steal Christmas* I hope you'll like it. I hope you've liked everything so far. James is not in this chapter, but it is necessary to, once again, set up the next part of the plot. Gawd I'm terrible…

Also...the Redlings. Tolkien didn't really have much use for grey areas. He dealt in absolutes: light-skinned/hair meant good and dark-skinned/eyed/hair meant evil(mostly). That doesn't sit well with me. The fact is I don't deal with absolutes. I love redemption stories, and I tend to write redemption as well. Call me a sucker with a foul mouth, but I also have a wee tender girl-heart and it bleeds for fictional characters. :( I love to alter the shit out of preconceived notions...to an extent. I try to keep people as close to character while still twisting them to my needs. It's called fanfiction.

I have read a few stories with the Uruks and the Orcs featuring heavily in them. It makes sense logically...if Saruman were able to breed the women with Orcs to create the Uruks, then genetically they must be compatible. Now the reason that the half orcs don't look like the Uruks is...wait for it...magic. Saruman had a shit-ton of magic invested in those mud-breathers. These people in Redling Village are just plain old half-orcs...mainly because Uruks haven't been invented...yet. _ Mwa ha ha. So don't expect widdle Uruk toddlers around. :B

* * *

Chapter 12 – Many Shaded Colors

_Dear Draca_

_I hope that your staff has turned out the way you want it. I know we did not have a great deal of time to catch up before your magic caught you up to complete that staff. I have gone off again in search of Phelan and James. In my journeys, I have not heard of a silver-haired wolf or a shape-shifter that can take the form of a wolf. I have _definitely_ not heard of a dragon or a dragon-man._

_I will go to Harad. From what I gather, it seems to be a Middle-Eastern society. I hope that we will meet again soon, my friend, and when we do we will not be interrupted by magic or men. Know that I will be extremely careful, and I hope you do the same. My wand is unmarred and I plan to keep it that way._

_If I hear word, I will send it back to Mirkwood. I am unsure how a Patronus message would work in this world. I do not want to risk sensitive information being intercepted. Perhaps I can find an owl to train? Whatever happens, know that I am thinking of you and glad of your safety. Don't be silly and get yourself killed before James can snog you._

_In Sincerest Friendship,_

_Orion Regulus Black,  
Heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black_

* * *

She sighed.

It had been five days since she had set out from the cavernous palaces of Mirkwood. Five days since she had packed up her things, taken her staff in hand and started down the Old Forest road to take herself on a most lonely journey. She had not taken a horse, but she had accepted a bow and a quiver of arrows from Legolas. She also had the knife he had given her, as well as a slender sword that he had pressed into her hands as she left. She had taken fencing lessons back home, but she was no prodigy. Magic was her weapon of choice.

She sighed again as she thought of home. What was her father doing now? What was her grandfather doing? He must be worried sick. It had been six years since she had disappeared. She wondered if time passed similarly in both worlds. She almost hoped it didn't, so that her grandfather would be spared the pain of thinking her dead for six years.

She was stupid for setting out in winter. Her green cloak fluttered a bit in the cold breeze that sliced sharply down the road, causing her to shudder. Yup. Definitely an idiot for going out in winter. She pulled the cloak tight and whispered a warming charm. It definitely helped, and she rubbed her gloved hands together beneath the thick woolen material.

She was to seek out Saruman the White, leader of the order of Istari and a most wise counsel in this world. She hoped he might give her some kind of direction. Perhaps tutor her a bit in the kind of magic this world was used to? Her staff worked as her wand had, and she was mostly up to practice with the magic she had learned all her life, but it felt a little heavy and unwieldy with the large staff. She was sure there was a better way.

Legolas had wanted her to take the road all the way over the Old Ford and take the High Pass into Rivendell, but she wanted to travel and see the world on her way to Orthanc. She was going to exit Mirkwood by the Old Forest road, but then she was going to go down south. She wanted to see Lothloríen. She wanted to see Rohan and Gondor. She wanted to walk the beaches of Dol Amroth and feel the sand between her toes. She and her grandfather had taken a yearly trip to the beaches of Italy, and once to Hawaii, but she hadn't had a nice vacation since she had come to this place. Arda. Middle Earth.

She was just walking out of the cover of the trees of Mirkwood when she was aware of a figure riding along the Old road towards the Wood. The horse he rode upon was of medium height, but built lithely and for speed. It was a rich brown, with a blaze of white in the center of its long face that traveled from snout to forehead, the pattern spreading out over its eyes like a star.

The rider was swathed in robes so white they seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. Underneath the robes he was wearing a brocade vest of deep green and a dove-colored shirt beneath that. He was wearing fine leather riding pants of rich brown and the ends of his pants tucked into leather boots of such a rich and soft material they appeared to be made of velvet. The boots were stitched with intricate patterns near the top, tasteful and obviously expensive.

He slowed as he reached the lone walker, and Draca looked up into his face. It was lined with age and dominated by a long white beard. The beard was bound with fine cording to keep it from flying up during his ride, and his long, sleek hair was also bound back from his face, and also of a bright white color. His eyebrows were dark and arched finely, giving him an air of aristocracy and power. He had a thin nose and high cheekbones, his face thin but strong. But his most piercing feature was his eyes. His eyes were the color of sable, deep and fathomless. It was hard to read any emotion in those dark depths.

He slowed down as he approached her and it was then that Draca noticed he held a dark staff in his hands. It gleamed like dark metal, and a large orb of white was fixed into the tip of it. She clutched her own staff tighter as she realized what this meant.

"You are the new one," he said without preamble, his voice deep and silky. Draca cleared her throat nervously.

"E-excuse me?" she stuttered nervously. The man's dark eyebrows twitched slightly together.

"Are you the new Istar or not? I have no time for games," he replied, his voice cutting like steel.

"I am, sir," She stumbled over her words, feeling rather awkward in the presence of the powerful sorcerer. He pinned her with a dark look.

"By Aulë's hammer…they stuck me with a brainless woman," he muttered darkly. Her nervousness shifted with an almost audible click to anger.

"Well that was fifty shades of _rude,_" she snapped. His head tilted slightly at her as if assessing his next statement.

"Nay, girl. Rude is imposing yourself on the grace of the Valar and cheating your way into magic. Rude is making me ride all the way to Yavanna-forsaken _Mirkwood _just to fetch you," his voice was like sharpened steel now, deepening in his vehemence. Draca bristled.

"I did not _cheat _my way into magic! I was born with it, and my channel for wielding it was broken when I was tossed into a goddamn vortex and stranded in an alternate world! So pardon the everloving _fuck _out of me for inconveniencing you, you self-righteous, vociferous old wind bag!" she said, her free hand balling into a fist and resting on her hip.

"You have the bearing of a shrew and the manners of an orc. I will break your staff and toss you into the Great River if you do not shut your mouth and _pretend _you are not guttersnipe. If you wish for me to invest any of _my _time in you, then I expect _respect _from you. Do you understand?" he replied in that deep, biting voice.

She ground her teeth together as magic made the air around her crackle with static. He just continued to stare her down, unimpressed. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and then took another deep breath before she was confident that when she opened her mouth she wouldn't just curse him.

"Yes." She ground out. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward a bit on his saddle.

"Yes…_what?_"

She trembled with anger. "Yes…_sir._"

His lips turned up beneath his mustache. "By the Valar…it can be taught," he said, before leaning back on his saddle. He suddenly tossed his head to the side and gave a sharp, piercing whistle that made Draca's slightly sensitive ears hurt. Then he led his horse to a nearby tree, looking along the low-hanging branches. He was suddenly brandishing a knife and he reached up and cut a slender branch the length of his arm from the main limb. It was the width of his thumb at the thickest and he began to peel off the green leaves, smoothing out the surface.

A question was on the tip of her tongue before she was distracted by the approach of another horse. It was a plain, rich brown with a dark mane and large, dark eyes.

"This is Lainaew. She will bear you on our travels. Have you eaten lunch?" he said, all the while smoothing the knots off of the slender branch.

"I wanted to come out from the cover of the trees as quickly as possible. I haven't eaten just yet," she admitted, and her stomach gave a grumble as if on cue. He looked down his nose at her for a few moments before swiftly dismounting his horse. He reached into one of the saddlebags and withdrew a water skin and a wrapped parcel.

"Have you provisions?" he asked. She nodded, shifting her leather satchel from her back. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. "I _said…_do you have provisions?" he asked pointedly. Her shoulders squared up and she opened her mouth to retort angrily, only to find the tip of the slender branch right at her face. She realized with a cold, sinking feeling in her stomach exactly what that little branch was.

"That _isn't-,_"

"It is, and if you do not want to feel it across the back of your legs or across your shoulders then you will speak with the manners of a girl of your position," he stated firmly. He saw her grey eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears.

"I understand. Sir." She said, her voice only quivering a little. "And I…I do have provisions with me, sir. Prince Legolas made sure I packed plenty of way-bread and dried meats and fruits until I could get out of Mirkwood and fish, or hunt."

He lowered the long switch, satisfied with the answer she had given.

"Very well. We shall rest for a spell, and then continue on. I should like to reach Rohan before the end of this Age," he snipped. Draca said nothing as she sat down on the grass, pulling her cloak around her as she retrieved her own water skin and a few morsels of food. She ate a piece of Mirkwood way-bread and the last bit of cheese that had survived her journey.

Saruman was watching her openly as he spread a cloth across the ground and sat upon it to eat his own meager travel rations. She was in a defensive position, her shoulders hunched up and her staff clutched tightly across her lap. The staff was a delicate looking thing, wrapped in silver wiring and adorned with some sort of horse-hair. Very…girly. The crystal gave off its own warm power for those who could sense it. The only thing he couldn't figure out was that gaudy silver attachment.

"What is that on your staff?" he asked with a bit of open curiosity.

She licked a crumb from her lip and glanced down. The folded blade was glinting in the sun. She reached over and flipped the catch, using her free hand to flick the staff and unfurl the three blades. She saw a flicker of admiration before it was tamped out firmly under a mask of indifference.

"It's a blade, sir. It is very sharp and can swing like an axe," she replied.

"Passable workmanship. The blades are unnecessary on a staff. And there isn't enough weight behind your swing or the staff to wield it like an axe. Trust a woman to add an unnecessary bauble to an important tool," he said, mumbling the last bit to himself.

"Trust a man to underestimate a woman," she grumbled back. She winced when his hand curled around the fresh switch. "I'm sorry!" she blurted. His hand held the wood for a moment more before he went back to his meal. A few minutes went by, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle when he heard a suspicious sniffle. His dark eyes swept over the wizard girl, and he noticed her shoulders shaking.

"What in Eru's name are you crying about?" he bit out the words as though they pained him.

"I was _s-so _excited to meet you! I want t-to learn from you. I never meant to be a b-burden! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that I'm not what you expected! I'm s-sorry that I can't leave…." And the dam broke then, with Draca sobbing into her hands as she told him of her departure of her world. Traveling with three others to this unfamiliar soil and being separated from them for six years. Working on her staff for four of those years. She spoke of her friendship with the prince and her own elven blood, worked into her family lines by scheming pureblood calculations. She laid everything bare before him, sobbing still for several minutes before she could get herself under a semblance of control.

She scrubbed at her face in annoyance. Her eyes were a bit red, and the skin around them was pink from irritation. She didn't get too many traits from the elves, because she still clearly looked as though she'd been crying. A flicker of white in front of her face startled her, and she looked up to see Saruman standing in front of her, holding out a small white handkerchief. She took it gingerly, stammering out a proper reply, before he turned from her and went back to his blanket. He picked up the cloth and shook it out, before folding it neatly and whistling for his horse, which had gone off with Lainaew to nibble at grass by the cold river.

When he had packed away the cloth, he turned to Draca.

"I am not an unyielding man. I am swift to anger and do not suffer fools. If I had no interest in teaching you, I would not have come. You think yourself too important….I believe your time with the Prince of Mirkwood has elevated your own self-worth, whether you believe it or not. You _will _show me the proper respect I deserve as the head of the White council and the leader of the Istari. You _will _act like a proper Lady. I can see the bearings of a more noble family in you, despite your sailor-like language at times. If you deliberately disobey or disrespect me I _will _take that switch to your behind, Lady or no, and I don't care how old you are; you are a wisp of a child _to me._ I do not mind questions, but there is a time and place for them. If I do not answer a question you will not needle the answer out of me. If you try, the same punishment as disrespect will be laid across your shoulders. Quite liberally. If we quite understand each other in these regards, I can be easy to get along with. If we are in disagreement, you'd best hand me your staff right now and hope you freeze to death before you drown when I toss you into the Anduín," he said, his dark eyes pinning her.

She dabbed daintily at her eyes with the white cloth, composing herself again before she looked up at him, her grey eyes bearing the pride of her magic and her blood. She stood from where she had sat and eaten, holding her staff proudly in her hand.

"I understand. I apologize for how I spoke when first we met. Though it is but an excuse, my nerves were frayed with walking through that forest road all alone. Your requests are not unreasonable, sir, and I shall strive to keep them. I do not wish to feel your wrath…" she said, eyeing the switch he had retrieved. "I love to learn new things. I am not a stranger to working for knowledge. I hope…I hope that our time together isn't abhorrent," she said, nervously wringing the white handkerchief. He stared at her for several long moments, before putting his boot into the stirrup and mounting with a swiftness that was unexpected for his perceived age.

"I believe we understand each other. Come along now, Ithilrhas, we make for Rohan."

Draca was surprised. She had not told him her Istar name….but then again, he was the White Wizard…he was supposed to know things, right?

"Will we…go to Lothloríen, sir?" she asked, situating her leather satchel across the saddle on Lainaew's back and mounting the lightly built horse.

"No. I have some business in Rohan. The elves of Loríen are not like the elves of Mirkwood. Though they would welcome me, their mistrust of strangers is legendary and their swift punishment of trespassers is infamous. If I wanted you dead, I'd do it myself," he said, moving his horse into a trot. Draca followed along behind him, feeling strangely comforted and extremely wary.

"That's…comforting. I guess…"

* * *

He sat in front of the fireplace, holding a large framed picture in his hands. This picture had been taken when they had gone to Magical Zoo when she was seven. Her brother was there as well, but he and Draco had disappeared off to look at the more wildly exciting animals. He and his quiet little prize had walked to see the Pegasii. A passerby with a camera had snapped the shot of him lifting her up into a railing so she could see the magnificent creatures while they were in the visiting chambers, before they would be taken back to their open pins to fly. He had received the enlarged picture a few days later in the owl post.

His arms were around her waist holding her steady as she looked with obvious rapture at the magnificent equines. His face was peaceful and amused at her excitement.

A droplet of water struck the pane of glass across the picture as his breath hitched quite suddenly in his throat. Another dripped solemnly onto the glass and he set it aside before burying his face into his hands and sobbing unashamedly. More than half a year had passed since she had disappeared. Over seven months, to be precise, and each day felt worse than the last. They had found no more clues to the whereabouts of any of them. Potter still had his team working on what clues they had been able to find, but nothing that would give them any real leads.

He cried until he did not have any breath. His chest was heaving with the effort of breathing steadily.

Draco was not bothered with her disappearance as he should be. While it was true the man had shed a few tears at the beginning, he had not mentioned his second child again in the seven months she had been gone. Even Scorpius had been caught sitting in Draca's room, staring out the window and stroking her childhood stuffed unicorn to his chest. He had been close enough to his sister to care for her greatly while still keeping the cool aloofness that the Malfoy family was famous for. The disappearance of Draca had left a great gap in their dwindling family.

And as soon as that thought crossed his mind, the deep melancholy was replaced by an all-encompassing fury. That _bastard _of a Potter had caused this. That filthy _half-breed _had made his granddaughter disappear without so much as a strand of hair to let them know she had ever been there. The boy's dangerous experiments had finally caused damage that he couldn't wave his clawed fingers around and fix. He stood from his chair, pacing to the window and then to his wide bed. Now his shoulders were heaving with furious gasps of breath. If he ever saw that _goddamn _dragon again he would split him from navel to nose with a slicing charm so powerful it would come out the other side and split his spine, too.

He threw back his head and _roared _in frustration, his voice cracking with raw emotion. Magic surrounded him in tumultuous waves, starting at his feet and arcing upwards. It blew his hair around his head in a silver mane, lit up his eyes with eldritch power. Several glass knick-knacks shattered along the wall and on his dresser, before the wave of angry magic finally petered out.

And then he just felt tired. He felt tired and empty, with nothing to show for that _fucking impressive _show of magic but some broken glass. So he walked wearily back to his chair, not bothering with the broken glass. Let the house-elves get it, the wretched things… He flopped inelegantly in the chair and returned to the only thing that he had been able to accomplish since his dear little star child had disappeared.

And Lucius Malfoy cried.

* * *

:'( *Sniffly face*

I didn't want to portray him as weak, but at the same time I wanted to add humanity to such a cold and hard-hearted character. He saw Draca as a second chance, and he loves her deeply, as if she were his own daughter.

I did not have James or anyone else in this chapter. I felt it was necessary to build up certain parts of the plot. Saruman….was not always evil. Indeed, he was very proud and very vain, extremely aware of his own self-worth, but not evil. By this time he was on his way to being tempted by the Darkness of Sauron, but he was not completely gone….

Safe enough, I suppose, for an upstart little Wizardling to follow him like a little blonde puppy. :3 I hope I did Saruman justice. I hope you guys would tell me if I hadn't. I know I have several Lurkers about, and I hope that with the raw emotional upheaval of Lucius and the honest sternness of Saruman that you decide to tell me if you enjoy yourselves. I would also welcome constructive criticism. Pwease? If nothing else, I would love some followers and favorites. It lets me know that you're interested in this continuing.


	13. Getting a Clue

Okay, my dears. Newest chapter up and ready to go. No questions or comments from the previous chapter, so I don't really have too much to say. I hope that I did justice to the white wizard, and continue to do so in this chapter as well. I hope to hear some feedback. We are ever closer to the next part of the story and the end of this part of the tale. I hope you are enjoying yourselves, because I am!

* * *

Chapter 13 - Getting a Clue

James' scales across his face were dulled with a layer of dirt as he worked; his sharp claws more effective at digging into the soil than a hand rake. They were in one of the Greenhouse nurseries of Imladris, and James was helping Tesare tend to some of the delicate plants and to plant the seeds of a few new ones to be ready for planting in the spring.

The whole room smelled of earth and greenery. James liked the smell; it was a smell of life and renewal. His time in Rivendell had been quite enjoyable these past few years. Though the initial mistrust had made it impossible for him to go anywhere alone, his patient tending of the hearts of the inhabitants of Imladris had paid off. He was trusted amongst the people, his chief supporter being Lord Elrond.

He looked over at Tesare as she worked. She was more subdued now, her heart burdened for the loss of her husband. But James believed that the timely discovery of her pregnancy had saved her. She was a very lovely elf- well that was stupid to say…as all elves were so frigging beautiful. But James found that the elves he actually liked were more apt to be found lovely in his eyes than the elves he found annoying or just did not like at all.

For example: Even Lord Elrond had his own deeply tragic handsomeness. His face, while smooth, was shadowed with a kind of grief that no man should bear. His bearing was regal and solemn, and though the weight of his past would have broken the shoulders of lesser Elves, and taken the hearts of Men, Elrond stood tall and proud.

And on the other hand there was a 'special' elf by the name of Saerlas who, despite the years James had spent in Rivendell, hated James with a fiery purple passion. James found him condescending and arrogant. And because of that his good looks seemed superficial and annoying. James went out of his way to make special kinds of hell for Saerlas. The male elf was in charge of various house-hold duties that were integral but boring in their domesticity. James liked to mess with that boring little schedule. Misplacing towels, 'accidentally' putting purple dye into the man's personal soap that was invisible until it touched hair….

They hated each other quite equally.

* * *

"Well, Naurlam, I do believe we have done what we can for the day," Tesare's melodious voice sounded. James placed the large seed of the plant they were working with into the hollow he had dug, before spreading the softened soil back over it. Then he sprinkled some water over it to moisten the seed and soil, before dusting off his claws over the bucket.

Tesare stood slowly, her round belly an impediment to speed. Elven pregnancies were both similar and dissimilar to human pregnancies in many ways. The child grew at the same rate. That nine-month span of growth followed by the delivery. They were also moody little bitches. James would never speak it aloud even if he could, but pregnant women were by far some of the most _unstable _people he had _ever _been introduced to…and he had been in the presence of a frigging _Dark Lord._

According to what he had picked up, the deliveries were also a bit different. Not so much in mechanics, but elven deliveries were a bit less…..violent. Less blood, less pain, much more beautiful. It was a bit unfair to the human women, in his humble male opinion, but he wasn't the one who wired the plumbing at Creation, so he couldn't say anything.

The past months had been quite entertaining for James. It was a learning experience and a TV drama, all rolled up into one nice, pregnant package. Apparently elf pregnancies were few and far between, not having the need to reproduce in a rabbit-like persistence like their human counterparts. Pregnant elf-women were celebrated and damn-near worshipped. And when it had become common knowledge that it was _he _that had most likely saved the unborn life inside her, he also became a bit more liked around Rivendell. But because she was almost a celebrity just for being pregnant, she could get away with a metric shit-ton of shenanigans. James was impressed.

Tesare liked to bake. A lot. It was another one of those quirks of expecting women. He had lots and _lots _of aunts and uncles, and all of his aunts had developed some sort of quirk or hobby that they did repeatedly during their pregnancies. His Aunt Hermione cleaned the bookshelves. At anyone's house. Didn't matter where they were, if she was there and there was a book shelf, that thing was damn-well getting cleaned. His Aunt Penelope (Uncle Percy's wife) had taken to sewing. He himself had benefitted from that hobby when she made him a pair of sturdy woolen slippers. He would love to have another pair of those…

"Oh, Dragon, I feel very tired today," Tesare commented, trudging slowly with her hilarious little pregnant waddle. James snickered behind her and she didn't even turn around to smack him in the nose with the wicker basket she had been carrying seeds in. "Doesn't matter if they have scales or not, men are unappreciative…" she grumbled.

_Doesn't matter if they have pointy ears or not, women are bloody confusing._ James grumbled to himself, reaching up to rub his snout.

* * *

"Move your _feet, _Ithilrhas. You have already been dead twice over!"

Draca only just dodged the heavy swing of the sword of the man in front of her, her chest heaving with exhaustion. She brought up her elven blade in time to deflect the second swing he aimed at her, but a twist of his blade knocked hers from her hand. It was flung in a wide arc, catching the light of the afternoon sun before it stuck solidly in the dirt. The man's sword tip rested coldly against her neck.

"Do you yield?" the man asked, a grin on his broad face.

"Yes," she gasped. He lowered the blade and Draca collapsed to her knees, huffing like the Hogwarts Express.

"Very disappointing."

She looked up at Saruman as he stood regally at the gate of the practice field. She struggled to her feet, wiping her sweating hands on her pants and moving sluggishly to retrieve her sword. Saruman had insisted she learn sword handling, and he said that the men of Rohan were good at the skill and were not averse to teaching a woman. Their shield-maidens were legendary.

"She's getting better, Lord Saruman. But you're right…she needs to move her feet," the swordsman said amicably. Draca dusted the dirt from her blade and sheathed it with only the small whisper of steel against leather.

"Come, Ithilrhas, we will eat in my quarters before we practice your magic," Saruman said shortly, turning in a small whirl of his white robes and walking away. Draca drooped a bit. While it was true that she had been beaten soundly, she had lasted much longer than she ever had, and even got in a few good swings of her own! She felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder and turned her head to see her sparring partner giving her an encouraging smile.

"He's always brusque, dear Lady. I find your progress pleasing and well on-schedule for someone of your stature and bearing," he said. He was a handsome man, with the common blond hair of the Rohirrim and the beard to match. Draca found the people of Rohan to look almost Swedish or German…some of the bigger warriors, though, looked like some angry figures out of Norse mythology.

She liked their beer. And they found it surprising not because she was a woman, but because she was a woman who wasn't from Rohan. Her silver blonde hair didn't fit in with their golden locks.

She walked on tired legs back to the quarters her teacher held in Meduseld. He was a respected member of almost every society, and there were perks to being counted as one of the Wise and being a friend of the free peoples. The room was well decorated, a large window letting in natural light to illuminate the rich tapestries and finely carved bed frame.

A table was set up near the window and their lunch was already sitting there beneath covers. He politely saw her to her seat and then took his own chair, removing the covers of their plates with flair. But then again, Draca thought wryly, the White Wizard rarely did anything without flair.

They ate in silence, their sustenance being a tasty soup with vegetables and a piece of soft brown bread to eat with it. Saruman drank from a chalice of fragrant wine and Draca preferred clear water when the sun was up. They had done this each day in the several months that they had been in Rohan. Draca would rise early and practice her bow with the archers to warm up before practicing her swordplay until lunch. After a meal with her teacher in his quarters, she would practice her magic with the White Wizard.

Magic in this world was so familiar and yet utterly foreign. This magic was just a bending of one's Will and using the element of magic to attain what one wished. Basically, all she had to do is want something, and then let her magic accomplish it for her. It was much less confined than the precise, narrow channeling of the magic in her own world. She wasn't sure which one she liked better. On one hand, the magic of Arda was very easy to cast, even if it took practice to wield it well, while on the other hand if one knew the proper spells, a much more powerful version of this magic could be cast.

They sat opposite each other on the thick rug as they meditated. The curtains had been drawn, casting the room into darkness. One candle sat between them, the flame sputtering and flickering as if in a windstorm as the invisible magic swirled about them.

"_Asatoma sad gamaya _

_Tama soma jyotir gamaya _

_Mritorma amritam gamaya."_

Draca was unfamiliar with the language that the chant was in, but the words spoke of ancient wisdom and power. He had taught her the chant the first time they had meditated. It was simple and easily remembered, but the magic that it drew in could be overwhelming to control.

Magical meditation always left her feeling tired and worn. A magically exhausted Draca stumbled from Saruman's quarter, her hair mussed from the tremulous waves of magic. She was unaware of the conversation of the guards as she trudged back to her own room.

"Great Béma above…that man gets more action than a war-horse!" One guard mumbled to his companion, watching as the green-robed Lady Wizard trudged back to her room. They didn't understand the meetings that went on between the two wizards in the afternoons, and so their minds supplied a reason for the thoroughly ruffled appearance of the lady.

"I believe she gets ridden just as often!" his companion supplied, and the two snickered at their own joke. "Seriously, though….the girl is absolutely _edible._ She's got the look of Elves about her…have you seen? She has the pointed ears. Rumor has it that Elves have a sensitivity about their ears, be it to sound or touch. I'd sure like to test that…" he growled.

"She's the ward of the White Wizard. It doesn't take a genius to know that he is a selfish man. He would peel the skin off of your back and blow you up like one of Mithrandír's fireworks!" the first guard argued.

"I bet I could make that wizard bitch keen like a wolf in heat," his companion continued. "She comes to drink with the soldiers sometimes. I would bet three silver coins she is just too shy to ask anyone for a good fuck. All she needs is a strong man to approach her." He said, nodding to himself.

"Ai, man…when you're sailing over the moon with your entrails on fire I don't want to hear any of your whining!"

* * *

She held the mug of ale in one hand, laughing at the antics of two dancing soldiers. They were quite plastered already, and were giving quite a rowdy performance of some Rohirric drinking song. She couldn't understand all of their slurred words, but she caught the word 'horse' a lot. Which was both amusing and disturbing.

Several other women dotted the pub, most of them serving, but there were a few others that were there simply for the enjoyment of the ale and atmosphere.

"Hello there, Lady Wizard."

She looked up, recognizing the handsome face of one of the guards from the Meduseld.

"Hello there, dear guardian of the palace," she said politely, nodding her head. Her hair was pulled mostly off of her face, allowing a few of the silvery strands to dance over her shoulders and contrast with the green cloak she wore.

"Name's Brinley, my Lady," he said, bowing low before the Green Wizard.

"You must call me Ithilrhas then, sir Brinley!" she laughed.

"Aye, fair Lady Ithilrhas. What brings you to gift us mere mortals with your presence?" he asked conversationally. She placed the mug down on the bar.

"I enjoy the atmosphere. It's very…._happy _here." She said, glancing around at the laughing faces. A man drew out a well-worn fiddle and was met with roars of approval from the people. He struck up a lively tune, and suddenly Brinley grabbed her hand.

"Dance with me, magic-weaver!" he laughed, swinging her into his arms. She shrieked with laughter as they twirled about amongst the other bodies, laughing and dancing as though the world stood still but for a few precious moments. When the song ended, the crowd roared for another one, and Brinley drew a breathless Draca back in for another dance.

She finally managed to convince him to let her sit for a breath. He led her back to her seat, sitting her down on the stool and bowing over her hand. His mustache tickled her hand when he kissed her fingers.

"I was honored to dance with you, Lady Ithilrhas," he said. She picked up her mug and saluted him with a laugh. His grin broadened when she drank, and he bowed to her once more before slipping off into the crowd.

She only ever allowed herself one mug of ale. She paid her due with a coin from the small allowance Saruman gave her, and headed for the door. The ale wasn't sitting well with her tonight and she wanted to rest so that she would be refreshed for archery tomorrow.

The cool air felt very good. She hadn't even realized she was sweating until the droplets of moisture on her skin super-cooled in the night air of Rohan. She shivered and drew her cloak tight around her. She took several steps forward and stumbled. Strong hands grasped her arm, pulling her up gently. She raised an unsteady gaze to the face of her rescuer.

"Brrllly…" she slurred the name terribly as she felt the world tilt dangerously.

"A good thing I noticed the lady looking a bit grey. Allow me to help you." She nodded, but regretted it immediately as she almost lost her supper on Brinley's boots. He walked with her gently, the blonde wizard leaning heavily against him as she stumbled onward. They seemed to walk forever before she vaguely heard the opening of a door. She was ushered inside and heard the soft snick of a lock.

Her thoughts were as clouds in a hand, slipping airily from her grasp and scattering wildly. She could not understand why Brinley had followed her into her room and locked the door behind them. She took a step forward and tripped over a shield on the floor. Why was there a shield in her room? Gracious…she wasn't _in _her room. But then where was she?

"You have no idea what you do to me, Lady Wizard," Brinley said conversationally. He unclasped his thick cloak from around his neck and tossed it aside. He was watching her try to find her feet as he unclasped his tunic and unlaced the shirt beneath it. He pulled them both off in one swift movement, baring his chest as he did. He had the solid build of the Rohirric soldiers, and a few well-earned scars dotted his body. "I have watched you for weeks. I envy the White Wizard his play. What must it be like to take a woman with magic involved? I would bet my last silver coin the experience is _breathtaking._" He purred.

She felt his strong grip on her arm again, pulling her to her feet from where she had fallen over his shield. She felt the clasp of her cloak release and he threw the green fabric aside as he worked on the laces of the back of her dress. The world became very cool as the fabric pooled at her feet. She was clad only in the cotton underdress that she wore beneath her main dress.

She whimpered as she felt his hands on her. She could get no bearing on the world. Everything swam as though she were underwater. Her legs trembled and threatened to give out.

He cupped her breasts through the material of her underdress. Her nipples hardened under the ministrations and he groaned as he felt the stirring in his groin. His hands traveled upward, cupping her face and drawing her close. Her eyes were dilated with the drug he had used to make her agreeable. Her pupils were so wide that he could only see a sliver of the pretty grey of her eyes. Pity that, because she had such lovely eyes. He tilted her head and leaned forward, nibbling at her earlobe gently. He was rewarded with a soft sigh. Encouraged, he stuck out his tongue and ran the tip up and over the pointed tips of her ears. This time his reward was an eager, throaty groan that almost proved his undoing.

As it were he drew back, grasping the material of her underdress and ripping it in his excitement. When her breasts were revealed to him he fumbled for the laces on his trousers, pushing her back until she fell against the bed. He covered her body with his own, stealing a furious kiss from her as he shoved up the cotton of her underdress. He finally freed himself with a satisfied groan. He grabbed himself eagerly, shoving up one of her knees to give him better access.

And then the door latch slid out of place with a loud click, which was the only warning he got before the door blew open quite forcefully. He looked up at the doorway, his face going ashen when a white-robed figure stepped into the room, two armed guards entering behind him.

Brinley stood, tucking himself away as quickly as he could.

"What…er…what is the problem, Lord Wizard?" he asked nervously. Saruman's dark eyes bored into his, and he quailed beneath that dark gaze. "Surely it ain't a crime to enjoy the company of a lovely lady for the evening?" he asked. It rather ruined the moment when Draca fell quite solidly off of the edge of the bed, whimpering like a kicked puppy. "Must've…must've had too much ale…"

"Brinley, you swine! Never thought I'd see you drug a lady!" one of the guards growled, moving forward and grabbing him roughly. "You can let the blood settle back in your head in a cell tonight, you fool!" And Brinley was dragged shirtless from the room. The other guard stood with Saruman as he moved quietly towards the struggling woman. He bent down and picked up her discarded cloak.

He supposed she wasn't at fault. She was but a woman, after all. For all her training, her magic, her abilities…she was still a woman. With every weakness and fault that women held. They were easily led astray with the right words. They were pleased by trinkets and empty promises. They were like the jewels they were so fond of: pretty to look at, but useless for anything else. He dropped the cloak over her trembling form, hiding her barely clothed body.

"Have a maid take her back to her room. And let it be known that my recommendation for the stupid lad is five lashes for every day she spends getting that horrid toxin out of her system," he said, before turning on his heel and walking from the room. The guard went quickly to fetch someone appropriate to haul a half-naked wizard lady back to her room.

It took Draca three days to get the drug out of her system, and Brinley was hauled to the center of Edoras and given fifteen lashes publically for assault on the ward of Lord Saruman.

Saruman decided to leave after that display of untrustworthiness. King Thengal had apologized thoroughly for the guard's behavior, but Saruman merely waved it aside as continuing the training of his pupil at Isengard. He assured the embarrassed King that he would return. And so Draca and Saruman set out from Edoras after several months, their provisions provided by the King himself and their horses taken care of as well. Their mounts were replaced by sturdy Rohirric mounts.

Draca was impressed but missed the soft brown eyes of her smaller mare. But the King insisted on giving them the powerful mounts as a peace offering to the White Wizard. Saruman accepted the gift with soft words of thanks to the King.

"Come now, Ithilrhas. We head for Isengard,"

So the two wizards and their two horses left under the early sun to head towards the tower of Orthanc, where the White Wizard made his home. They arrived at the imposing black tower of Orthanc after six days of lazy travel. It had been a rather quiet trip. Draca did not know whether to ask forgiveness for imposing on Saruman's mercy or thank him profusely for helping her.

As the horses trotted up the trail to the outer ring of the tower, Draca sped her horse up a bit and grasped at her teacher's white sleeve. He looked at her sharply and she flushed.

"I never thanked you...for interrupting Brinley's attempt to...er...-"

"You are my ward, and I take my responsibilities seriously. Besides, you cannot be completely held at fault for the affliction of being a woman. Better men than a common palace guard have fallen to the unintentional wiles of women," he said simply. She let her hand fall from his sleeve limply, her mouth open in offended shock. She _so _wanted to reply to that, but she knew that he would wear the backs of her legs down if she snapped at him now.

She scowled angrily and sulked for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Harry sighed softly and shoved the papers away from him, letting his head fall forward with a thump. He couldn't concentrate. His thoughts were scattered at best.

"Captain Potter?"

He lifted his head to look at the Auror that was shuffling nervously in front of him.

"What is it, Aarons?" he asked tiredly.

"Sir...with all due respect...we all believe you should go home, sir. You look terrible. We know that it's been hard on you, these past few months...and you've been working non-stop on that and been keeping your other duties up..." he trailed off at the look of fire in Harry's eyes.

"So you've all just been discussing my health behind my back? I see. Get out, Aarons. I'll deal with this the way I see fit, and it won't be to go home and curl up like some coward!" he hissed. Aarons opened his mouth to reply, and Harry stood up, green eyes blazing with magic. _"Get out!" _He roared. Aarons fled.

Harry sank back into his seat, just as tired as before he had stood. He roughly pushed his ruffled hair away from his face. He was greying early. The good genes of the Potters were known to stave off grey hair until well into their eighth or ninth decade of life, but Harry was going grey at fifty. Hell, even Lucius Malfoy looked better than he did, and that slime-ball was pushing _ninety._

"A-Auror Potter?"

He looked up, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue before he saw who was standing there. Perseus Pettigrew stood at his office door, shuffling nervously at the door frame. Perseus was his father's son in looks. He had neatly trimmed blond hair and watery blue eyes. He had a lightly pointed nose and rounded cheeks, making him look rather like a chipmunk.

"What is it, Perseus?" he asked. The young man gulped.

"I...I just heard something that might be important...about James..." he said softly. Harry stood sp fast it knocked his chair over. Perseus winced.

"Look at me, Perseus. What did you hear, lad?" Harry asked desperately. Perseus was terrified of Harry, and Harry knew it well. Perseus felt that Harry should hate him for what his father did. The lad was always so humble and subservient around Harry that it made the older man feel guilty. Sirius really didn't have anything to do with Perseus, even though he was Orion's friend. He didn't out-right mistreat him, but he certainly didn't warmly welcome him either. Sirius could sure hold a grudge.

"James was...was studying Time Turners. I just heard that he had gotten hold of one..." Perseus said.

Harry's face went ashen. Time Turners? If James was messing with time then he could be...anywhere. No, not any_where._ He could be any_when._ But...but it did give him somewhere to go...

"Did you hear anything else about it, Perseus? Anything at all that might be important?" Harry asked.

"I belive...that James was asking everyone if they had any mithril. I don't know how or even if those two are related...James has been known to take several projects on at a time..." Perseus said.

Harry righted his chair with a flick of his hand and straightened up the papers on his desk. He started to the door, and noticed Perseus shifting his shoulders up in a defensive position.

"I will take this information to my team. Thank you, lad." Harry put his hand on Perseus' arm. "Listen to me, Perseus. You are not your father. You are a good man. You have good friends, and you are helping them as you can. James would do the same for you, and that in and of itself is the testament of your character." he said firmly. Perseus looked up at him, searching his green eyes for something. Then he smiled, and it transformed his boyish face handsomely.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. And let me know if I can do anything else to help." Perseus stated, his voice a little firmer. Harry gave him a thin smile, and nodded.

"If I need you I'll call for you, dear boy."

* * *

Well, well. A few steps forward and a few steps back. Now Harry may be on the right path to help James. Maybe. Possibly? Eh.

So I hope that I've still got everyone's interest. I hope I'm still doing justice to half-evil Saruman.

The chant that they use for meditation is a yoga chant that I found online. This is what it means:

_From ignorance lead me to truth  
From darkness lead me to light  
From death lead me to immortality_

I thought it was appopriate. :) Be sure to review, or even like or follow. I love new people and new thoughts!


	14. An Unexpected Arrival

Here we are, boys and girls. The beginning of the rising action. The foot of the hill we must climb. We have reached the whole damn idea that started this fic. I see actions in my head, and it has been so hard to skip and pick through time to finally get here. I dislike certain amounts of time skips, but it was necessary to start so young and then move forward. We are about to get to some _sweet, sweet action _and I am nearly giddy with excitement. *Squee*

Ahem…I still seem to be getting nada in terms of feedback. Gavoon is my bestie, my solid rock. *Give us a hug, Precious!* I want to give all of you stranger-hugs. *Shifty eyes* I mean, I want to love you all with my body. *Damn it!* I want you to tell me things, sweet things…whisper them in my ear…*Goddammit…* Review? Maybe?

* * *

Chapter 14 – An Unexpected Arrival

He was stretched out along a rock, the sun warming his scales as he watched the spectacle below him. A young woman played with her toddling son, both shrieking with laughter at something or another. The woman was dark-haired, her long flowing locks pulled back from her face in intricate braids as she played with the boy. He was dark-haired like her, his hair a thick curly cloud around his head, ruffled ever so often by the light spring breeze. They shared eyes of tawny brown, almost golden like fresh spring honey.

Tesare still had the shadows of grief in her own ocher eyes, but the years spent with her son, the result of her love for her husband, had softened the blow that would have been devastating. Four years now she had raised their son without him, and each year was one that young Aras did not have a father. Oh, there were plenty of male elves that loved to step into the role for the young elfling, and Tesare was never truly alone in raising her son, but there was that ever-hanging sorrow of never being able to claim one of those father _figures_ as his own.

Aras wasn't old enough to mind. Elves matured a lot slower than their mortal cousins. Although Aras was now four summers, he would only pass as about one summer on a mortal child. He could now toddle gracelessly through the grass of Rivendell, and James found it rather hilarious to watch him try.

James was growing restless here. He knew his time in this valley was closing, but he had no idea how to go about leaving it behind. He loved the inhabitants of this hidden valley dearly. He did not wish to hurt them, but he had the idea that fate was about to throw him a curve ball. Lord Elrond seemed to know he was restless. His relaxing times with the elf-lord seemed to revolve around the ancient elf telling him stories of his childhood, going all the way up through his marriage with the Lady Celebrían and the births of his children. Elladan and Elrohir, James was painfully familiar with. The three had gotten in more trouble in the past eight years than James ever had in his life.

Arwen was unknown to him. She had been staying with her grandparents in Lothlórien for the past few decades. James had gotten shifty-eyed when Elrond mentioned the Lady Galadriel, but to James' relief Elrond had not noticed. James still had nightmare about that crazy-eyed tree tart. And when he did the god-forsaken collar around his neck itched fiercely.

James was a romantic at heart and had felt deeply for his elf-friend when he heard about Celebrían's attack at the hands of orcs. There was much in the story that Elrond had left out, and much James could guess by what was _not _said. The poor woman must have truly _suffered _if she could no longer bear to even be with her husband and children. So James had decided to do something nice for the elf-lord of Rivendell.

For months he had been gathering intel on his project. He consulted books, pilfered materials, and even used a bit of Legilimancy to read the thoughts of several elves. Although he was pretty sure Elrond had figured out what he was doing with that last bit. He had brushed the elf's mind several times, and each time Elrond would glance around suspiciously, before his fathomless grey eyes would rest on James with deep suspicion etched into their depths. James would merely return the gaze innocently.

He had finished his masterpiece several days ago, and now it was ready to be revealed. Elladan and Elrohir were due back today from a hunting trip, and Estel would be with them. He was a young man now, almost twenty years of age, and James felt very old indeed. He could remember as if it were yesterday when he had carried a venom-sick twelve-year-old into that hollow cave he had called home for two years.

James had been in this world for ten years. He was thirty-three years of age in his own world, but these years had passed in a flash. It seemed as if time moved in a fast-forward motion, like the old video tapes his father had shown him once. He missed his mother and father terribly some nights, and hoped that his disappearance had not broken them. Honestly he hoped they had decided to have another child. Not to replace him, because he knew that would never happen, but possibly to lessen the hurt of him going away.

He heaved a sigh as he picked up the large, wrapped parcel. He positioned it carefully over his shoulders and tied it around him with twine so that he would not be hobbling over the roads of Imladris. He could already hear the hunting parties coming in from their long trip, the sound of horse's hooves and voices echoing through the quiet valley. Wives, sisters and friends met the loved ones as they returned. There were no injuries or deaths in this party, much to the joy of the people of the valley.

Elrond himself received his sons, and the boisterous lads all gave him an embrace in turn. Elladan first, then Elrohir, and finally Estel embraced him in welcome. It was as Estel moved back from the embrace that James found the foursome.

"Ai, even Naurlam greets us home!" Estel teased, reaching out and tweaking James' large ear as he was wont to do at times. James grabbed the back of Estel's tunic and shoved it up and over his head, trapping the young man in his own clothing. Elladan and Elrohir roared with laughter, and even Elrond gave an indulgent smile to his youngest son and the dragon that had lived there.

"There now, dragon, what have you on your back?" Elrond asked lightly, noticing the wrapped parcel slung between the large wings. James sat on his haunches and untied the string nimbly, drawing the flat, rectangular package from his back. He pointed at Elrond, and then held out the package. "For me?" Elrond asked in surprise. James nodded, and then also pointed at the twins. "For the twins as well?" he asked. James nodded again.

Elrond, openly curious, reached out and took the wrapped package. It was as wide as his forearm and almost twice the length, being flat and thin and wrapped in thick, plain canvass and tied with string. His hands undid the string as the twins moved in to see the parcel. He removed the string and folded back one corner of the fabric. It was a painting, and he could see the orange and red leaves of a tree painted in one upper corner. He smiled a bit wider, thinking that Dragon had been experimenting with paints. He moved back the other corners of the fabric, and his smile faded from his face.

Elladan sucked in a strangled gasp at the picture and Elrohir made a noise of awe.

It was a portrait of their mother, Lady Celebrían. In full color she perched on a bench in their father's garden, sitting in the canvass as though it were simply a window in time. The detail in the painting was breathtaking. Wind appeared to lift her beautiful silver hair around her face and outwards, making her appear ethereal. There was even silver dust brushed into the strands, making them shimmer in the sunlight. Her eyes shone like chips of bright sapphire, her delicate brows arched upwards as she smiled. The brush had somehow managed to capture the soft glow of elven skin, seeming diffused in the light of the scene. She was even barefoot, her feet crossed at the ankles and tucked to the side like a proper Lady. And there beside her sat Elrond, his face as young and smooth as it had ever been, but the deep shadows of sorrow gone from his eyes. The portrait Elrond appeared to be speaking, one hand gesturing as he grinned openly.

"Dragon…" Elrond choked. He could not draw in breath to speak. His chest was heavy with emotion. But then dragon moved in close to his side, looking down at the picture. Elrond felt a deep stirring of Magic as the dragon took a deep breath and _breathed _over the picture.

As though a switch were flipped the picture came to life. The leaves moved as though in a breeze. Celebrían's hair swirled around her, and the picture Lady even threw back her head and _laughed._ The painted figure of Elrond laughed as well, gesturing wildly as he apparently told some story. His lips moved, and even she seemed to speak, but there was no sound from the canvass. Two identical elflings joined them from out of the border of the painting, the two colliding with their mother who received them warmly. A dark haired little girl trudged into her father's embrace from a place off to the side and for several moments the family sat content before the twins ran off again and then were followed by their painted sister. The scene played for a few moments before it seemed to repeat as the Lady laughed again.

He was gripping the frame of the picture tightly. They were unaware of the silence that had fallen when some of the other elves saw the picture, and saw the magic in the dragon's breath as the painting came to life. Elrond's breath left him in a shuddering puff. He drew in a gasping breath, but it was Elrohir that finally wept aloud. The sound broke a spell between the three, and Elladan began to cry as well. They moved in close to their father, wrapping him in an embrace as his shoulders began to heave with sobs.

Eyes turned away from the incredibly private, raw moment, and for several minutes the three elves cried together at the sight of the beautiful picture. Estel stood back a few steps, but even his face was awash with tears. Finally they seemed to come to themselves, separating, and the twins swiping at their eyes. Elrond did not wipe his tears away but instead turned to James.

"This magic is both heart-wrenching and beautiful. 'Tis a gift beyond anything I have ever received in my life, and I cherish this with everything that I am. Thank you." He said. He handed the picture to Elladan and threw his arms around James solidly, pulling him close for a tight embrace. James hugged him back with fervor, causing a few light smiles when he almost knocked the Lord of Rivendell off his feet in his return of affection.

Sometimes it was nice to be a magical dragon.

* * *

…And other times being a magical dragon sucked.

He glared at the new elves from the shadows of a rocky perch, on the verge of snarling and spitting fire at the lot of them. He recognized their smell, and especially several of the guards. They were the elves of Lothloríen. And that mind-reading bitch was in with them, sitting astride a regal looking horse and humming to herself with her eyes closed as they marched into Rivendell. She was riding beside an imposing looking blond elf who was most certainly her husband. And just behind them rode a darker haired elleth, with a face as such he had not ever seen.

She alone made him pause in his murderous thoughts. She was beauty personified and James even felt stupid for those words, because they did not do her justice. Her face was smooth and glowing, just as all elves were. Her hair was unbound around her shoulders, sparkling as though the stars themselves were her hair clips. Her lips were pink and perfectly shaped as she leaned forward and said something. Galadriel's eyes opened and she looked up, glancing at the shadows just where James was sitting. She _waved _at him, laughing lightly when Celeborn looked up into the shadows curiously.

James used a bit of magic to light up his golden eyes from the darkness, and Celeborn looked rather alarmed. Galadriel laughed again and turned to her husband. James could not make out what was said, but Celeborn looked only marginally more relaxed after that.

James grinned, and if anyone could have seen his face they would have thought it a terrible, ugly expression. He suddenly bunched the muscles of his back legs and jumped from his perch, spreading his wings with a mighty flap and sailing over the elves of Lórien with ease. They shouted in surprise and terror at the sight of the dragon and James fluttered quite solidly in front of the mounts bearing the Lord and Lady, landing with a thump and frightening the entire entourage. Several bows were drawn and nocked, but James merely met them all with a steely gaze, a deep rumbling sound vibrating out of his chest.

"Well met, Master Dragon!" Galadriel said cheerfully. James drew himself up and sniffed.

"So this is the famous dragon that skirted the borders of the golden wood?" Celeborn asked, his deep voice shaded with curiosity.

"It's kind of ugly…" said the dark haired elf behind them. James hissed angrily and sputtered like an insulted cat, several sparks coming from his mouth and drifting lazily downward.

"Well I was going to introduce you gradually but Naurlam does not like to do things by halves…"

They all saw Elrond standing in the pathway that led up towards the clearing that welcomed visitors to the valley. He was giving James a stern look, but the dragon merely sauntered haughtily between the horses, spooking the animals. They would have thrown their riders had they been anything but elven horses. James actually sneered when the dark-haired beauty flung herself from her horse, fleeing past him and into her father's waiting arms. He saw Galadriel smile warmly at the reunion. Celeborn's eyes never left James, boring into him with his deep, eternal gaze.

* * *

James tried to make himself scarce for the next several days. Galadriel seemed determined to seek him out, though, and every time he managed to get to a place all by himself, he would catch a whiff of her particular scent and high-tail it as quickly as possible. She finally caught him as he napped in one of the gardens. He was sleeping rather soundly on one of the low branches of the sturdy, drooping trees when he felt a solid tap on his nose.

His eyes opened lazily and he was met with the sight of Galadriel nose-to-snout with him, giving him an intense stare with her fathomless blue eyes. He snorted a nose-full of smoke in her face, grinning as she pulled back and coughed.

"Ai, Elbereth, Dragon! I only want to speak with you…must you hide from me like a child avoiding its medicine?" she asked, waving a delicate hand in front of her face. James growled softly and shifted his large wing, draping it over his face so that he couldn't see her. It would be cowardly to run now, so he could only ignore her and hope she went away. It wasn't working. She grasped his wing solidly, pushing it away from his face and trying to pin him with a stern expression.

_Go away, you fruity smelling daughter of a weed! _He thought angrily.

"Dragon…Naurlam….I do not wish you ill. I want to look at your collar. I can tell who gave it to you," she said suddenly. James' golden eyes locked with hers and he could feel the light brushes of her trying to access his mind. He jumped suddenly from the tree, heading for the door to escape the persistent elf-queen.

"If you flee me I cannot help you remove that which collars you."

He stopped. A clawed hand touched the collar, scraping his talons against the dark metal. Could she really help him remove the thing? He had tried so many things before, and none of the Magic he could wield was able to break the metal. But perhaps the power of someone outside of the collar could help? He turned to her and sat down in the grass, wrapping his tail around him rather defensively and looking at her down the bridge of his long nose.

Galadriel approached the large dragon and knelt in front of him in the soft grass. She reached out her right hand and James saw a twinkling liken to a star resting on her middle finger. He could sense magic in that starlight, and swallowed hard when it drew near. She took a deep breath and rested her hand over the black collar, allowing the metal of her Elven ring of power to touch the black metal of bonding.

For a few moments there was nothing, but suddenly she felt a lurch as the two metals connected like magnets drawn together. She cried aloud at the foul, angry magic flowing through the collar. She could hear deep whispers just on the edge of her hearing, and she strained her ears to hear what was being said.

"_Ob bot shof lat agh timer  
__Krishtraum agh bot thrak  
__Lak u ta tok ob zajar  
__Agh Goth ob ta Nazg"_

The harsh Black Speech burned her ears, but her body was frozen quite solidly and she could not move a muscle. She vaguely heard the dragon squeal in pain.

James let out an unearthly shriek of agony as the fiery metal of her ring burned into the collar, which in turn became like molten silver. His body was frozen, his muscles cramping as he tried desperately to separate them. A passing servant heard both the cry of the Golden Lady and the shriek of the dragon and ran for Elrond and Celeborn, the only people believed capable of dealing with this problem.

* * *

He was laughing. Harsh, grating, horrifying laughter bubbled out of his mouth as he gazed into the mirror and watched. The fools. The undeniable, delicious _fools_ were just _begging _for him to greet them. He would certainly love his chance to have a go at sweet Galadriel. Her mouth had by far racked up a debt that he would be more than willing to pay for with her delectable….assets.

He removed his heavy spiked gauntlets, letting them drop at his feet with thick clangs of the dark metal. He withdrew a black, gleaming dagger from his belt and placed the blade along his hand, drawing it over his palm. Deep black blood bubbled to the surface like tar, roiling madly as it boiled in the air of Mordor. He let several molten black droplets fall into the black mirror, causing runes along the edge to light up with a venomous violet hue. He placed the knife aside and curled his injured hand up. Then he reached out his right hand, sparing only a glance for the stub where the One Ring had rested, and plunged the hand into the water. His fiery red eyes went white with magic, his mouth opening wide and twisting into a foul, pleasurable grin.

He found himself suddenly standing in a plane very much unlike the ash-choked land of Mordor. The sky was a dull golden color and he stood upon grass of mottled blue. No sun or moon lit the sky yet the world was filled with a pleasant light. He looked down at himself, grinning proudly at once more being able to take the fair form of Annatar.

He was tall and lithe, lightly muscled with a handsome face and dark hair. He knew, though, that the tawny eyes of Annatar could not overpower the flaming orbs he had earned in his betrayal. So he stood with a fair body and foul eyes. He was cloaked in black robes that moved like shadow, with pointed black slippers that protected his feet as he began to walk over this land.

There was a forest of purple trees to his left, and his pointed, sharp ears heard voices from within. With light steps he moved quickly towards the sound, moving into and amongst the trees like a predator.

The hunt was on.

* * *

"You just _had _to start touching the collar!"

She opened her eyes blearily, looking up into an unfamiliar face. He had angular features, the strong jawline of Men and aristocratic lines along his nose and cheek bones. His eyes were of bright gold and the black pupils were slitted like a cat's. He had a cloud of ruffled black hair that made him appear as though he had stepped out of a wind storm. His ears were sharply pointed like an elf's, and she could see fangs poking over his thin masculine lips.

And he had wings…and a tail…and his bare feet were tipped in sharp black claws instead of nails. She assumed his hands were as well, but he had his fists balled up. He was wearing only a pair of black leggings, and his bare chest was dusted with black hair that gathered at his navel and traveled down into the band of his pants.

"…Dragon?" she asked. He gave a sneering mockery of a smile.

"James Potter at your service, Lady of the Wood." He said, bowing at the waist. She sat up, only then realizing that she was wrapped in a long shirt and nothing else. And 'James' was shirtless….meaning she had been completely nude only a bit before. Well. She drew her arms around her for comfort.

"Where are we?" she asked. James sighed.

"I was hoping you could tell me. I am not trapped in my dragon form, so I can assume we have either been transported physically, or since this land appears rather…nonsensical, I can assume we are in a spiritual plane of existence." He said. His voice was deep and rich with a smoky quality to it that encased Galadriel's ears quite comfortably. She raised her right hand to use Nenya to get her bearings, and found with a jolt of panic that the ring was just that- a ring. She had no power in this plane. "I could not sense any magic from your ring. It appears whatever has brought us here has bound your power." He said. He held out a clawed hand, giving a little smirk when a small flame appeared in his hand. "And whatever bound your magic didn't bother with mine…" he added.

She felt small and useless without her power, and shivered in the cool air of the spiritual plane.

"I do not like this. I meant only to help you, Dra- mm… James. I meant only to attempt to remove your collar, not to trap us both in a non-existential world," she said, standing to her feet. They were in a forest of some sort, the trees being various shades of purple. The purple leaves beneath her feet were rough and sharp on her arches. "Perhaps we should attempt an escape from here?" she asked.

James rustled his wings in annoyance. On one hand it was fan-_fucking_-tastic to have two legs again. On the other there was a much-neglected buddy of his making an appearance aided by the perfectly nude elf-woman he had been basically draped across when he woke up in this world. He was glad the pants were dark to hide the bulge in the material. The sharp ears of both of them prickled when they heard a rustle of leaves to their side.

A man stepped from the shadow of the trees, grinning at them like the Kneazle that had found the Snidget. James did not recognize his face, but the flaming, swirling eyes were a dead giveaway. Galadriel gasped softly, moving back against him for protection since she had none of her own. No magic, no weapon, barely any covering for her body. At length their visitor spoke.

"I do not believe either of you will be going far. Welcome to your own, personal Nightmare."

* * *

Somebody get the Dr. Pepper because it's about to be a party up in here!

Er….I mean…dang, there is about to be some drama going on in this nonsensical place of nonsensical nonsense. 0_o

I should sleep more…but then I wouldn't be able to post such chapters. Maybe that's a good thing? Regardless, I would love it; almost _die _with happiness if I got some feedback. I will not hold this fic ransom for it…not only is it against the rules but it's dumb and annoying. I plan on finishing this story no matter what, but it is so _nice _to get that little alert that I got a review.

There will be a sequel. I'd love to hear some ideas on that as well. This story was never meant to be the main pitch, merely the wind-up. Think The Hobbit. Well…I'll leave you to your devices then, and I hope that I keep your attention and I love to see people enjoying my work. :) The Black Speech that they heard was made the right crap up with a crappy dictionary, and roughly translates to:

May the world see you and tremble  
Choas may you bring  
Fear the land of Mordor  
And the Master of the Ring


	15. Desperately Wicked

Not much to say here. I would like to thank my reviewers (Oh Gavoon u so silly!) And my awesomely Jedi mind-tricked newcomer, Astiar! Welcome aboard, matey, I hope the sailing is as rough as you want it and the journey full of adventure! And also a shout out to BrightEyes2013!

The whole chapter is the Showdown. I am hopefully not completely shitting up the story by what happens here. I do not believe any of this has ever been attempted. At this point I am staggering blindly into uncharted territory and will be changing things as I need to. Hopefully I can align everything neatly just as this story goes down so that I can make everything fall ever so effortlessly into place at the start of the other. All right, now to let James get in some awesome verbal sparring with the Dick Lord. Er…I mean Dark Lord. That's _totally _what I meant. *Shifty eyes*

* * *

Chapter 15 – Desperately Wicked

"Bloody buggering fuck," James said, startling the newcomer and Lady Galadriel at the same time. Sauron watched the lad step forward, putting the elf behind him and hiding her behind one of his large, leathery wings. Such an interesting creature he was. He was lean, but powerfully built, and the taut muscles of his abdomen were twitching as he crooked his fingers into claws and glared at the flame-eyed intruder.

"That's quite adorable, _Melui_…you have a protector with a pretty shiny hide." he purred at Galadriel, gracing them with an even white smile. **(Sweet)**

"Why don't you shut that gaping hole in your face and actually _do _something for once? All you seem to be able to do is either patronize people or use little trinkets to pitch your little fits at the world," James growled. The air seemed to superheat suddenly as Sauron's condescending smirk twisted into an angry scowl.

"I will smear your guts across this glade, you foul half-breed, and then I'll use your blood as a lubricant to fuck the frigid bitchling behind you!" he snarled. James showed his sharp teeth, a deep snarl starting in his broad chest.

"Kinky," he replied. They stared at each other for a few tense moments, glaring into each other's eyes before James suddenly shot forward. Sauron grinned at the impatient young dragonet and moved forward as well.

James tried to bring his claws across the smirking face but Sauron dodged the blow quickly, reaching out and cuffing James across the head soundly, jarring his teeth together. James turned with inhuman grace and swept his other hand up, catching the Dark Lord across the stomach. His claws only barely grazed the heated skin but sliced easily through the black robes he was wearing. Sauron grabbed his extended arm and used his momentum to whirl him straight into the solid dark trunk of one of the purple-leafed trees.

James saw stars and tasted blood. He felt those strong fingers around his neck suddenly and his breathing was cut off as the fingers curled around his throat and lifted him cleanly off of his feet. The light faded from his vision and he glared at Sauron while struggling to get himself out of that choking grasp. He buried his black claws into the hand holding him, shredding at the skin, but the Dark Lord either could not feel the pain or it did not affect him.

There was a flash of movement and the splintering _crack! _Of wood and the hand released him. He fell to the ground and hopped back, tripping on his own feet when he landed painfully on his tail. Galadriel was holding the splintered remains of a stout wooden branch and Sauron swayed only slightly before turning his attention on her.

She was using the broken branch quite admirably, buffeting him back each time he tried to advance on her. But she looked ridiculous, standing barefooted and in nothing but the strange black tunic James had been wearing when they were transported to this dream-scape. She did get in a splendid strike to his side, but it left her open for him to wrench the branch from her hand and turn it against her.

James tried to make use of his distraction by jumping at him from behind, but the tall form of Annatar twisted like a serpent and struck at him, once again using his own momentum to knock him off his feet. James felt blinding pain as the broken branch came down against his back. It knocked the breath from him and drove him into the sharp leaves.

Sauron was glaring at Galadriel now. The dragon-lad was dazed for a few moments from the blow, but Sauron would deal with him when he stood back up. Right now he had a feisty little elf-girl to deal with.

"You should make it easy on yourself, _Melui._ We will use the forest as a bed. I will take you until it pleases me, and then I will slit your throat and bathe in your blood…" he trailed off, his glowing eyes going half-lidded in anticipation. Galadriel sneered at him angrily.

"You were always the expert weaver of words, Annatar. Although, I must say your promises seem less sweet as of late. They just don't have the same _ring,_" she snipped. His lidded eyes opened quite wide at the jab.

"You absolute _slut,_" he snarled, charging her with the branch in hand. She danced and dodged as he swung the limb heavily. He was incredibly strong and she knew that a solid land of that wooden weapon would lay her out neatly and she did not fancy being at the mercy of Annatar until James could gather up his senses. She cursed the fact that Nenya could not be of aid to her.

These trees were not her friends. She could not hear them speak as she could the sweet _Mellyrn_ trees of Lothlórien, or even the broad green trees of Rivendell or Mirkwood. They did not come to her aid as the others would. In fact, she felt rather betrayed when she tripped over a raised root as she moved backwards. She shot forward as soon as she hit the ground, but the slight delay in her momentum allowed Annatar to catch a blow with that broken branch right across the side of her head. .

She twisted painfully with the force of the blow, a wound opening at her hairline and dripping blood down her face. And suddenly he was upon her, his fingers around her throat as he pressed her angrily into the floor of the forest.

"You don't have to be _alive _when I fuck you…I've never been picky like that…" he snarled. He was pleased to see the light in those deep blue eyes dimming. Her lips were turning blue as she tried to buck him away from her, but she did not have the sheer superior physical strength.

Strong fingers were in his long black hair, jerking him with such strength that were he mortal it would have snapped his neck. As it were he let go of the bothersome elf-queen as his hands flew to his scalp. The dragon had recovered quicker than he had anticipated and he was paying for his presumption. His anger was bashed from the front of his mind by his face slamming into a tree. Once, twice, three times the dragon made his face meet the tree trunk, before letting him go and going for the gasping Galadriel.

Blood was spurting from his nose, thick and black and he sat dazedly on the forest floor, watching through a haze as the lad wrapped Galadriel's arms around his neck and took off running through the forest.

He stumbled to his feet, swaying dangerously as tar-like blood poured down his face. His own blood was bitter and incredibly hot, sizzling the leaves as it dripped off of his chin and onto the forest floor. He fingered the tears in the front of his robes and then pressed his hand to his nose, bringing it away slick and black. He grinned.

"I will enjoy this. I will enjoy breaking them both. I haven't had this much fun in _Ages._"

* * *

Celeborn's heart was racing as he and Elrond sprinted towards the glade. The maid had interrupted their meeting, desperate and frightened. She had only to mention the dragon and Elrond was on his feet. When she mentioned that Galadriel was involved, Celeborn felt an inexplicable, icy wave of fear.

He _could not _lose her. Oh Eru, he could not live without her.

They skidded to a halt in front of the scene. Several others were watching in curiosity. Galadriel was knelt in front of the black beast, the hand bearing Nenya placed on the neck of the monster. Nenya glowed fiercely on her finger, and a dark ring of metal was lit up against the neck of the dragon, glowing an eerie red color. Their eyes were open wide and glowing white with shimmering magic. Magic swirled around them in tumultuous waves, disturbing the grass and rebuffing anyone who tried to approach. There were arcs of static through the magic, making the whole scene appear violent and stormy.

"What must we do?" Celeborn asked, watching them warily. The other elf just stared at them.

"I…I have no idea. I wish she would not have confronted Naurlam by herself…" he said softly.

"Will the animal harm her?" Celeborn asked sharply.

"No…Naurlam is rather…unique. He can be fierce as any of his race one moment, and meek as a lamb the next. Many nights has he sat with me in the garden with his head in my lap, taking fruit from my hand as a domestic pet. But he is incredibly intelligent and independent. I found him holed up in the library once, sitting at a table and reading as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Erestor found him, too, and the poor lad let out an impressive shriek before passing out. He gets a bit touchy about his books…" Elrond mumbled.

Any other time Celeborn would have found that story uproariously funny. As of now it didn't make him feel any better.

"I will separate his head from his shoulders if he harms my wife," he snarled. Elrond turned to him, a fierce look on his face.

"Do not mistake my care for Naurlam for indifference for Lady Galadriel. She is dear to me as well," he snipped fervently. Celeborn opened his mouth to reply when there was a mighty yelp from the dragon. His head had jerked and now his nose was dribbling blood lazily and his white teeth looked stained with blood. "Did you see something happen?"

"Nay, I saw nothing…he just twitched and was bleeding…" he trailed off. A few moments later the dragon's back arched slightly and he exhaled sharply. The great black wings behind him drooped along the ground, looking weak. But still the connection between them was evident as the angry magic continued to swirl and spark.

A gash suddenly opened across the top of Galadriel's head and her body swayed slightly as bright blood began to drip down her face. Her breathing stopped and her face began to color slightly as the white light in her eyes started to dim.

Celeborn cursed desperately and shot forward, the magic burning at his skin and making his silver hair stand up with static. He reached for his wife and only got within a few inches of her before a force of magic seized him and threw him back like a rag doll. He missed slamming into Elrond by a few inches and when he landed he skidded along the grass for a few feet.

Hands were on him, helping him to his feet. He clutched at Elrond's offered arm and turned to one of the Lórien elves.

"Fetch my sword. I will end this forcefully if I have to."

* * *

He ran as fast as his feet would take him. He had wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, and she was doing a valiant job of holding onto him, though it was agony on his back. He could have let her run on her own, but he was taking to the skies as soon as he got to a good enough place to get air. He wasn't sure if the Dork Lord was following them, but he sure as hell wasn't turning around to see.

"We need to get out of here," she said into his ear. His temper flared.

"Well goddammit why didn't you say so before? I thought we'd have a fucking _tea party_ with the Dark Lord, maybe I can sing for you both when he pins you to the forest floor and fucks you for all you're worth!" he snapped as his legs pounded against the ground. He heard her growl in his ear.

"You are an impertinent hatchling," she stated firmly.

"Elves have the most god-awful knack for pointing out the obvious…" he replied. They burst from the trees after a few moments, and were now running across a stretch of deep rolling hills carpeted in pink grass. "Well this is fucking _odd,_"

"This land is strange to me- what are you doing?" he was pounding to the top of a tall hill and she could feel his muscles straining, especially the muscles beneath his scaly wings.

His back was bruised deeply where Sauron had struck him, but the skin itself was quite unique. Where his pale human skin was it was soft as any other man's, save where the draconic appendages touched him. There was a dusting of small, glittering scales that faded off into his regular skin between his wings, and she assumed it was the same at his tail, but she doubted he would show her just for her curiosity. It would also be extremely awkward.

"We're hitting the sky. I hope you like coach," he said as they reached the top of the hill. Instead of running down the hill he took a huge leap at the crest, spreading his mighty wings and flapping them hard. She gasped when they surged upwards, and she could feel the muscles bunching and stretching as he took off into the air. Though she was not heavy it was definitely much more work to fly with two people. He kept his body rigid and horizontal as he flew and she clung to him desperately, wrapping her legs around his waist. She felt him shudder beneath her.

He could feel the swell of her bottom brushing his tail and it was setting him on _fire._ He had not had the pleasure of a woman's company in ten _goddamn _years and he was going to get a mid-air stiffy with the Lady of the Golden Wood (he snorted to himself) sitting on his back in nothing but a tunic.

His luck was fucking _terrible._

* * *

He ran over the swelling hills, watching as the boy flew along. He was not terribly high, but he was high enough that a regular projectile would not have any effect. He grinned. He didn't need _regular _projectiles. He still had a bit of power.

He held out his hand and chanted a word of Power, grinning as a bolt of fire shot from his fingertips toward them. The dragon seemed to know it was coming and sailed out of the way. He heard the squawk of protest from the dragon's aerial passenger.

He began to fire several projectiles at them, grinning sharply. The lad was good with his wings, dipping and swirling as if he were a tiny robin and not a large half-breed. _There! _One projectile hit true on one of those impressive black wings. He heard a scream of agony and the wing snapped towards his body, breaking his loft and plummeting them both to the ground.

"Round two, little one."

* * *

James managed to swing his wing back out just enough to keep them from a fatal crash against the ground. As it were he landed painfully hard, slamming face first into a pink hill. His breath was knocked from him from the combined force of his landing at the elf on his back. His vision danced as he pulled back. He heard Galadriel give a cry of distress and her weight was off of him.

He rolled slowly, looking at the Dark Lord as he held Galadriel by her long silver hair, very close to the root. She was very still as one of his arms wrapped around her slim waist. His broad, hot hand shifted upward and rested on her breast. She shuddered in revulsion and he jerked her hair painfully, eliciting a pitiful yelp.

James rolled over with difficulty. His vision was spinning slightly and he spat out several blades of pink grass, now red with his blood. He moved his sore jaw a bit as blood dribbled down his chin. He could see that the thick gooey blood from the Dark Lord was covering the lower half of his face like macabre face paint, and there was a bit smudged on his hand where he had obviously touched his own face. His tongue darted out and tasted the bitter black blood and he grinned at James, his teeth stained with the dark substance. He looked horrifying.

Galadriel was seething. She _hated _being weak. She _hated _having no power of her own. This mortal boy possessed more strength than her in this world and it absolutely _galled_ her to think that he would have to _protect _her. There was a difference when she was protected by her subjects in Lórien. She enjoyed the attention there but at any time she could use the power of Nenya to protect herself. She had _nothing_ here. No power, no strength, and she didn't even have that damned tree branch anymore.

She felt Annatar press his hips against her, grinding her into a growing erection.

"You twisted monster!" she gasped. James stood to his feet slowly, shaking out his head dazedly.

"How about we make a deal, dragon?" Sauron purred, squeezing the Lady tightly. She gave an involuntary squeak as her breath left her.

"What deal could I make with the devil?" James asked, his voice slightly subdued with pain. The world was dancing dangerously.

"Come now, that seems overly harsh. Do you truly think me evil?" he taunted, still caressing Galadriel's breast over the black tunic material.

"I believe you might have been good once. Bright and beautiful…a shining star amongst your peers," James said, reaching up to shove some hair out of his face. "But you fell, Sauron. You fell into an abyss from which there was no retreat. What good you had was shattered in your betrayal, stained by your own transgressions and buried in a pit of your iniquity. You are as black as the blood that travels your veins. Your heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?" James swayed slightly.

Something in his words ignited a fury in Sauron the Betrayer. His hands were withdrawn from Galadriel but he slammed his fist against the side of her head to knock her away. She fell like a slender tree, her body going limp as she struck the ground, her face bouncing painfully against the grassy hill. James saw red blood seeping from between her lips as she laid still.

"You speak pretty words, little dragon. But you know _nothing._ You condemn me. You call me evil, wicked, and tell me that I am deceitful. But you have been deceived. There is no good and evil, dragon. There is only power. There is only power in this world and those too weak to seek it are fated to be trod upon by those who _do _seek it. I sought power, dragon, and I found it. I stood proudly at my Master's side, and when he was cast down into the pits of inexistence then I rose up to take his place. My might flattened this land and made its people tremble at the very _utterance of my name._ Still they do not speak it, even though I am bound to my tower and cannot actively pursue them.

I am in control here, you putrid little pustule. You are _weak. _I hold the power in my hands, I control the power here. Your magic is not enough to protect you and the elf-bitch. She might have been able to overpower me, but I have made sure that the ring she bears cannot be used against me here…" he said.

He held up a hand and three silvery strands of magic exploded from the stump that had once held the One Ring. A silvery white thread went from his palm to Galadriel's hand, connecting to Nenya. He held no control over the Elven Ringbearers, but the One had ever connected all twenty together. The other two strands flitted off to show the connections to Vilya and Narya, the rings of Air and Fire.

James' eyes were lidded in pain and exhaustion. His short flight with Galadriel on his back had exhausted him. He kept his palm towards him as he gathered the magic. It took so long to concentrate pure magic like this, but if he could keep him talking (was it a requirement that the bad guy had to give a speech? He'd ask his father next time he saw him…) then he could possibly do a fair amount of damage.

"So I am weak for not seeking power? Some are born powerful. Some seek power. And some have power thrust upon them. My power was thrust upon me and it has scarred my body and burdened my soul. You say I am weak for not striving for my power, but I say you are the weak one for letting your power control you," James said.

Sauron snarled in anger, and the shimmering connections blazed in his hand. James didn't know it, but in three places three elven rings of power seared with pain.

"I am the one who controls my power. I am the fear of the people, I am the Master of Mordor. I will rule Arda one day with an iron fist. I will raze their cities and burn their towns, and from the ashes I will build a new and glorious world that will bow at my feet!" he snarled. James just smiled.

"There is only one problem with that…" he said softly. Sauron merely looked at the lad, who grinned lazily. "You keep underestimating your enemies."

James brought his hand up sharply, releasing a sizzling blade of concentrated magic from his grip. It sailed past Sauron's outstretched palm as he flinched away from the bolt, feeling that the magic could have done quite a bit of damage. He snarled a grin at the dragon.

"You missed, boy!" he laughed. James merely smiled dangerously.

"Did I?"

Sauron looked at his hand incomprehensively, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. There was nothing there. The lad had missed, he had hit nothing- Fuck. No he _hadn't _missed. He had hit precisely what he meant to.

Where the three strands of impossible magic had bound the virtue of the elven rings to him there was nothing but frayed sparks of magic hanging limply from his hand. The little bastard had cut the connections of the Three away from him. He could not feel their existence anymore. Panicked, he turned his fiery gaze to the boy.

"Do you have any idea what you have _done?_" he hissed. He felt a blaze of power next to him and turned to see Galadriel standing, raw power crackling around her as her blue eyes burned with anger and fire. Nenya was a searing light on her finger and the two were terrible and breathtaking to behold.

"I believe this is where a chess master might say: Checkmate, bitch."

* * *

It was as though something snapped inside him. He had yelped aloud as Vilya burned him soundly, but this new sensation was like nothing he had ever felt. It was as like he had been trying to swim through a river with rocks tied to him, but he had not known he was weighted. The weight suddenly snapped, and a great wave of power rose up within him. It was overwhelming and he could not control the tide of it. He had not expected it and it had blindsided him.

It was squeezing the breath from his lungs and he fell to his knees, gasping and waving his hands as he tried to come to grips with this power.

"_Elrond?"_

Celeborn watched as the elf fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Vilya was blazing blue on his hand, and that in and of itself was surprising because he usually kept it hidden. It was as if something were suffocating him as he flailed uselessly.

The servant returned with his sword and he unsheathed it swiftly. Galadriel was now leaking blood from her mouth, her eyes flickering again as though they were a dying candle. He fought the great waves of magic as he approached them, being buffeted about as a ship on a stormy sea. He stopped a step before where he had gotten to last time, close enough to reach them but far enough away that the magic didn't toss him again.

He raised the sword above his head and brought it down with a whistle as it rent the air. It struck the left side of the dragon's face, the edge of the sword biting into the skin. But as soon as the metal made contact with the hide of the black beast an arc of magic traveled up the blade, freezing him in place as it began to shock him. He felt as though he were holding onto a lightning bolt as the power surged and crackled through him painfully.

A powerful arc of magic traveled upwards suddenly, growing and swirling into something horrifyingly large before it surged back downwards like a crack of lightning, striking the group of three. Celeborn's sword was dissolved in his grasp and each of the three were thrown away from each other. Celeborn once again skidded painfully on the grass and came to a hault.

James' face was split open from the top of his head down between his eyes and across his left cheek. The sword had bitten the tough hide down to the bone, and deep red blood was surging from the wound and covering his face. He blinked roughly as it dripped into his eyes, moving weakly to survey the damage. Galadriel had been thrown back further, being slighter of build and close to the blow. Her head had struck a paving stone roughly and she was out cold, the cut to her forehead open and weeping blood. Celeborn moved suddenly, letting out an anguished cry and crawling to his wife.

The power had retreated in Elrond and he was left winded and confused. Vilya was visible and bright on his hand as he finally gathered himself to his feet. His eyes fell on Celeborn as he gathered Galadriel into his arms. For several long moments she did not breathe, and he could feel a heavy, panicked feeling descending on his chest. Sweet relief finally filled him when she drew in a gasping, tortured breath. He finally turned towards Naurlam, pinning him with a look that no one had ever seen on the peaceful elf's face. It was of anger, mistrust, and a certain amount of loathing. He had _trusted _this creature in his home, _welcomed _it, even….and this was how he was repaid? Dragon raised his head and looked at him with large, sorrowful eyes. One was stained with his own blood and he would not be able to see him properly. Elrond clenched his fists together.

And nobody dared to move.

* * *

Holy _fudge. _That chapter nearly kicked my brilliantly pale _ass._ The Dark Lord is fascinating to write, but the three main ones here: James, Galadriel _and _Sauron….it was difficult to write them all and keep them close to what they need to be while making them all have their own strengths and weaknesses. Jiminy Cricket. I hope you guys appreciate this. I hope you let me know _just how much._

I had three reviews for this last chappie and it made me squeal like a school girl. *Squee* See? There it was again! Do it again! I liked it!


	16. A Great Commission

Well folks. This is it. The last chapter of this story is right below me. I admit a certain amount of sadness for this story. And then some excitement for the new one. That's right. I am posting a sequel. I will go about posting it as soon as I get this one up. You will find it in the regular Lord of the Rings stories. This one was a crossover because a great majority of it had a bunch of twisted aspects, but the sequel will take place completely in Arda. There may be some vague mentions of the HP world, but I think it is vague enough to justify the reglar place.

Now, I hope to see you guys on the other side and I am eager to begin anew. Let me know if you appreciate this chapter and be sure to check out the sequel: A Dragon's Destiny that will be available in a few moments.

* * *

Chapter 16 - A Great Commission

James watched Elrond warily, pain and exhaustion making his whole body droop. He could barely see out of his left eye due to the blood running freely out of the slash on his head. His body ached. Between his wings there was a bruise beneath the scales and each twitch of his wings made the tender skin hurt fiercely. His snout was bleeding from the injuries he had contracted in the dreamscape. Apparently each hurt he had received there had translated to his body in the real world. This would explain why Galadriel had an open wound at her hairline and why her lips were stained with blood.

He took a small step towards where Celeborn held her but found his way blocked by Elrond. There was something different about his bearing. He stood taller; his feet stepped lighter on the grass. His deep grey eyes almost glowed like his skin. He looked…powerful.

"You have betrayed the trust I put in you, Naurlam," Elrond said softly.

_What the bloody fuck is he talking about? I didn't betray anyone! _James thought desperately. What could possibly be going through that man's head to think that- Oh. His gaze fell to Galadriel again, and his ears drooped on his head. They thought….they thought that _he_ had hurt the Lady. They didn't know what the two had faced in that awful _between_ place. And he had no way to tell them otherwise. His mouth really wasn't meant for physical words. He had only ever gotten the one out, and he had felt it was important.

"You attacked the Lady Galadriel and you have harmed her grievously. Do you deny it?"

How could he? He merely blinked slowly and tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He was injured and tired. Magic or strength escaped him at the moment…he could not fight them if they chose to subdue him by force. He felt hot tears prickling at his eyes and tried to blink them away. He would not weep in front of them. He would not give the satisfaction.

"The only reason I do not seek Hadhafang to separate your head from your neck is because of the good you have done. I do not forget you saving my son. I do not forget you saving young Aras while he still developed in the womb. And so I tell you this: you are hereby banished from Imladris. You are no longer welcome in the realm of the Elves. If you step a paw into this place again I will personally see to it that each one of your scales is ripped from your body and have your head mounted in my study," he barked. James felt the weight of the sentence crushing him, but he stared ahead with a steely gaze.

_If only Galadriel would wake up. She would tell them. She would let them know he had not done her harm…_

But she was out firmly. He stood up, his golden eyes still on the elf lord that he had called friend. He bent his front legs shakily and lowered his head in a final bow to the master of the Last Homely House before turning and limping away. He refused to meet anyone's face. He could almost smell their disgust and loathing. He didn't want to see it. His heart ached strangely and he felt as though he couldn't breathe well.

A thump landed across this back leg and he heard the tell-tale clatter of a stone on the walkway. He turned back and saw several of the other elves gathering stones. His eyes slipped back to Elrond, but the elf hardened his gaze and turned away from the dragon.

So that's the way of it, then? Very well. Another elf tossed a stone at him and he buffeted it away with his wing. He set his front legs apart and drew himself up straight and tall, slipping his wings apart to make himself a larger target. Then he drew in a deep breath.

He _roared._

The sensitive elf ears were covered quickly by hands with several of them crying out it agony. Then he turned and ran with all the strength he had left. His claws skittered along the walkways as he made his way back into the main part of the house, before shooting through the shortest way to the exit. He turned the last corner and ran into someone, bowling them over.

Estel landed on his bottom with a surprised curse and a muffled thump. He glanced up to see Naurlam standing back, breathing heavily. The creature's face was gashed from the top of his head to his jaw and it bled profusely, dripping down the black scales and now dropping onto the floor.

"You're hurt!" Estel exclaimed with a yelp. Naurlam looked behind him and blinked rapidly, his golden eyes shining with moisture that looked suspiciously like tears. He seemed to shift about for a moment as if thinking on something, before reaching back and plucking a loose scale from his hind leg. The scale was the size of a large coin, vaguely round and shiny. He grabbed Estel's hand and pressed the warm scale into it. Then he drew the young man into a trembling embrace.

"G-g-gaaa…llllluuuu…" he was choking on the word, like he couldn't make his tongue work. Estel was shocked that the word even came out. Then he registered what he had said. **(Galu – Good bye)**

"_Galu_? Where are you going?" Estel asked desperately. Dragon drew back and he saw the pearly tears finally spill. "Naurlam what happened? What's going on?" he asked. James patted his claw against the young man's cheek and then pressed his snout against his forehead. It was the best he could do. Then he let go of Estel and took off again, ignoring the shouts. "Naurlam, come back! What's happened?"

He ran out of the borders of Rivendell and did not look back.

* * *

She felt heavy and warm, awash in a sea of fuzzy half-thoughts and tendrils of consciousness. When she finally opened her eyes, she noticed the bright blue eyes of her husband staring down at her, his smooth forehead creased with worry.

"Alatáriel?" he said softly. The pain came to her suddenly. Her head was throbbing and her whole body ached fiercely. She grimaced at the pain and closed her eyes again. She felt gentle fingers on her face, tracing her flaxen eyebrows and down her cheek. "My love, please awake. We are worried for you. I have half a mind to hunt down that beast and finish what Elrond could not…"

"Wha…?" she sighed. Then she opened her eyes again, feeling a bit clearer. "Where…is…dragon?" she said. Elrond moved close at her side and he and Celeborn moved her into a sitting position so that Elrond could place a cup to her lips. There was blessedly cool water in the cup and she drank slowly so she wouldn't choke.

"I banished the beast from Imladris for his assault on you," Elrond said. Galadriel failed in her careful drinking of the water and choked quite magnificently. She sputtered and coughed for several moments before she turned blazing eyes on her son-in-law.

"What did you say?" she asked sharply. Celeborn and Elrond were both surprised at the vehemence in her voice.

"I banished him from Imladris. He could not be allowed to harm you-,"

"Were you but my son by blood I would take you over my knee right this instant and give you a walloping you would not soon forget!" she snapped quite angrily. Celeborn's mouth opened in shock and Elrond's face grew pink with surprise.

"What…I…that is to _say…_!" he sputtered in return.

"Your quick temper cost me my savior. He did not harm me! Quite the contrary…he…he _saved_ me from a horrifying fate…" her anger deflated almost as quickly as it had come. "You don't understand…._I_ sought him out…_I_ placed Nenya against that collar. We were drawn into some kind of spirit world….it was like a dream, but everything that harmed us there was very real and very painful. But we were not the only ones there. Annatar was there too…"

"You were there with Sauron?" Celeborn asked in surprise. Her face was unreadable.

"Aye. And I was _powerless._ I could do _nothing _against him. Annatar bound the power of Nenya in that spirit world, but the dragon…James, his power was not bound. Annatar was as Dark and brooding as always, but the lad returned his words quite evenly. He even surprised him once, I think…" she said, remembering the words just before Sauron had struck her aside.

"Lad? It's a beast." Celeborn said shortly.

"Nay, my love. When we were in the dream world he had a different form. He stood as a Man, but he kept his wings and tail. He had claws and sharp teeth, and his eyes were like a slitted cat's. He protected me…" And then she launched into the whole story, telling them of when she woke in James' tunic to when James severed the connection between the Three.

"I felt Vilya blaze with power and it was like I was drowning. I could not grasp the control for a while," Elrond said softly, his free hand resting gently on the ring of Air.

"And so you have banished the one being with enough power and compassion to keep the Dark Lord from forcing himself on me…The one with enough raw magical power to sever the ties that Sauron had to the Elven Rings. You have cast aside the creature that stood loyally by your side. My temper has flared with you, young Elrond, and I must apologize. I see how it must have looked. I see how you must have worried, the both of you. But your anger, however righteous, has lost us a most powerful ally," she said.

Elrond's forehead was creased with worry and sadness. "I should have waited for your story. I knew Naurlam could not speak and would not be able to answer what happened. I should have subdued him and then waited. But it is too late, now. He has been gone many hours, fleeing on dragon's feet and most likely by sky. And I do not believe his memory is short," He said despondently, very much regretful of his harsh and quick judgment of the dragon.

His gift of foresight let him know that he would not see the dragon again for very many years.

* * *

She stretched out on her bed with a light yawn before throwing her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. She winced immediately, flying to a standing position as quickly as possible. She had been immeasurably foolish last night, and her backside had paid for it. Lord Saruman had been teaching her many languages over the last few years that she had been here at Isengard. She normally did very well with them, but the ancient language of the elves, Quenyan, was by far the most difficult language they had done. She was having a hard time of it. And so in her frustration she had shoved aside one of the books he had given her to read and snapped quite spectacularly at him.

She had called him a 'Withered old fuck-bucket' whose only joy in life was to 'force dead, boring as shit languages down people's throats.' She had realized her mistake immediately and tried to back pedal. In the end he made her go pick her own switch off of a tree that grew alongside the Tower Warden's quarters. He had a deceptively strong arm and she could scarcely stand when he was through. She had been banished to her room for the remainder of the day.

She dressed carefully, deciding on a dress today, as leggings would brush over the places that the switch had bitten into the skin. She donned her green robes over a brown dress and slipped on her leather slippers before trudging towards the main tower to search for her teacher.

He was on the main floor in a smaller room off of the receiving room, standing in front of a tall plinth atop which sat a round orb. It was large enough to fit in the hand and almost looked like a crystal ball, but it was black and appeared to be filled with smoke.

"What is it?" she asked curiously. He reached out and touched the stone, running his hands over the surface a few times.

"It is one of the Palantíri. A Seeing Stone," he said, his voice taking on a reverent note. Draca had heard vague mentions of the stones, but what she had heard was not good.

"Are they not dangerous, Master?" she asked nervously, rubbing her hands against her green robes. His gaze snapped towards her and he sneered a bit.

"Only for those of weak mind, Ithilrhas. In the hands of the Mighty it can be a great boon," he said confidently. Draca felt a cold lump settle into her stomach as she gazed at the stone. There was something _off _about it. She didn't like it.

"Lord Saruman….I don't think keeping that thing is a good idea…" she said softly. He splayed his fingers over the stone protectively, glaring at her. Then, at length, a condescending look came over his features, one that Draca was a little familiar with.

"Stop worrying so much, little green wizard. No harm will come to me from keeping the Palantír."

* * *

It was sheer exhaustion that made him finally stop. When his wings nearly folded into his body mid-flight he knew he had to stop. He glided easily towards the ground, collapsing as soon as his paws felt his full weight. He had followed a small river northwards and was now crawling towards the water. His face stung fiercely and was painful beyond measure. He was still unsure how he had flown with such a bruise at his back, and each breath was a pain to take because of the bruises to his throat.

He dunked his whole head into the water and began to drink greedily, allowing the movement of the water to clean his face at the same time. After a few long moments he withdrew his head, gasping for breath. He curled into himself and wept aloud until he was too exhausted to do much more than drop off into an uneasy sleep. He slept for a long time and dreamed not.

When he awoke again he fished for a bit and then began to travel up the river on foot, allowing his wings to rest until he may need them again. He had not had much chance to fly when he was in Rivendell and he was feeling it in the muscles now. He walked into the night, mindlessly putting his feet forward and taking one step at a time. He dropped near the setting of the next day's sun, exhaustion taking him again as he curled into a ball. This time he dreamed.

* * *

When he entered the dream he was on two feet again, his human form rising to the balls of its feet and stretching languidly. He was dressed in robes of dove grey and he was barefoot. On his head a twisted crown of silver rested. He appeared to be in a dusty plateau with no sun, a sapphire sky and light brown dirt stretching out as far as the eye could see. James reached up and grabbed the crown off of his head, sneered at it, and tossed it aside in the dust.

"Do you not realize your own importance?"

He whirled around to find the voice, and spied a robed stranger staring at him. The man's hair was white like snow, but his face was smooth and ageless. His eyes were green, the color of new spring grass. A simple gold crown rested on his white hair and sparkled as though it were adorned with stars. In his right hand he held a staff of smooth white wood, straight and narrow with a star-like jewel floating languidly near the tip.

"I have never put much importance on myself," James replied evenly, his face openly curious. The stranger began to walk towards him, using the staff as a walking stick, but James was sure he didn't need it. The stranger smiled at him and it made James feel both alarmed and relaxed.

"You have always been a selfless person, James, Son of Harry,"

James bristled a bit. "You know me?" he asked.

"I have always known you," came the gentle reply.

"And do I know you?" James asked. The man's smile widened.

"Do you?"

"Are you God?" James was wary about that question; feeling rather self-conscious if this was the case.

"I have been called many things by many people. The ones in this world call me Eru," he said conversationally. James' slitted eyes widened comically and he fell to his knees, bowing with his palms to the ground and flattening his wings out to the side.

"Rise, my son, and face me. There is much to talk about," Eru spoke gently. James stood slowly, still feeling rather ridiculous in the presence of the Creator.

"I do not understand. Where am I? Where are my friends? Why are we here, Lord, and why can we not find each other?" James looked agitated as he spoke, the questions that had been burning holes in his heart leaping from the tip of his tongue with ease. Eru reached out and placed his left hand on James' shoulder, quieting the young man immediately.

"You are here because it was my will for you to be. All of you are here because of your skills and your experiences. You will see your friends again, James, though it may not be when you wish it to be," he replied. James' whole body seemed to wilt like a flower with too little water. "Have hope, my son. There is much for you to do. There is much I need you for, just as there is much that must be done with your friends. Already the lives of many have been affected by your presence. I recall a little boy who would have been killed had a merciful fire drake not intervened,"

James blushed slightly. "Estel thought too much of himself too soon..." he muttered.

"He will have great importance soon enough. But you do not think highly enough of the skills you have been given. I do not idly give such skills as you have." Eru said lighlty. James frowned.

"I have been scarred! I am not even human anymore. I am a monster! I-,"

"Would not have been able to handle such a magical burden in the body you inhabited before. The sheer amount of raw magical power you hold in your body would have destroyed a normal human body. Dragons are resistant to magic and have hearty bodies. I know the plans I have for you, my son. They are _great_ plans. Plans to give you hope and a future, not to harm you."

"I do not feel great or powerful." James confessed honestly, looking downward. Eru's hand went to his chin and tilted his face up.

"With your power you also have mercy and a great capacity for love. You shed tears over the betrayal you just faced. Oh, James. Do not lose hope. Do not lose faith."

"What am I supposed to do? Sauron has almost free reign over the world and there are few who can stand against him. I only faced him in a dream world and in the end it was Galadriel who handed him his arse with the help of her Ring of Power. I have no such trinket! If he is reunited with the One Ring the world will be destroyed!" James said vehemently. Eru's hand fell away.

"You are correct. Mairon must not be allowed to reclaim the Ring. Each and every person of Arda should do their part to make sure it does not happen, but there will be people who want to see him return to power. Those wicked hearts are not working my will. Remember that. But you...you, my son, have a unique gift. Go claim the ones who have been cast aside. You will know them when you see them. All of my children are precious to me, and with your presence a great Awakening will take place. You are the Catalyst. Without you none of what is going to happen would have taken place." Eru seemed rather excited. "I chose you to do this. None other." he finished.

James sighed softly. "I just want to go home." He said softly, his golden eyes filling quite suddenly with tears. "I just want to go home to my mother and father…" he sobbed. "I can do so little, Lord. The people are afraid of my very presence...I can do nothing to reassure them." Eru stood his staff up straight and let it go. Then he clasped James' face in his hands and drew him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He ran his thumbs over James' lips and then drew back, looking down at him with sparkling green eyes. He took up his staff again.

"You should find that gift quite sufficient. Now _wake up._"

* * *

James' body jerked awake quite suddenly and he almost rolled right into the river.

"Shit!"

And he paused. He opened his snout again, running his forked tongue out over his teeth and flexing his claws.

"Shit. Can...can speak. Little...words..." His tongue still felt thick and awkward, but now he could form his mouth over some words. He grinned dangerously and stood to his feet, feeling strangely invigorated. He took off Northwards again, a mountain range deep in the distance that seemed as good a place as any to go. As he ran he began to sing to himself, taking advantage of his new tongue.

"_Let's g-get down t'business, _

_T'defeat th'huns!"_

He had a new sense of self and a new power. It was time to show the world what James Sirius Potter could do!

* * *

Ai-a! That was fun! Don't feel too bad, guys! The story will be continued in my sequel, so just pop on over to the main LoTR section and check out A Dragon's Destiny.

Look forward to hearing your thoughts on this story and seeing old and new friends in the new one.


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